Travel On
by WritesWithQuill
Summary: A collection of short stories about the travelers and those who journey with them. 'What Happened at the Gate of Finis'
1. Learning the Steps

_Disclaimer:_ _Again, Octopath Traveler belongs to Square and Nintendo; only the stories here belong to me._

 _Just a general spoiler warning going into this collection, there probably will be spoilers for every point of the game in this but before each chapter I'll put a little warning for what's mentioned in it. If you've just started Octopath and want to avoid spoilers altogether, there's a list of spoiler free stories at the bottom of this chapter. However, as much as I'd like to see you stay and read, it might be in your best interest to wait until you're about halfway through the game to come back as this collection mostly takes place after events later in the game._

 _Not all of these stories will be happy: there will be tragedies and character deaths thrown in between drinking contests and sparring sessions. Again, I'll put a little warning before each story so you'll be able to avoid the tragedies if you don't want to read them. The T rating is general and won't necessarily apply to all stories - some are closer to K while others boarder on M - and there's general violence, sexual references and the very occasional use of swears throughout._

 _This is going to be an on-going collection of one-shots about the travellers - sometimes they'll be expansions on the story or travel banter, sometimes they'll be what ifs or what happened after - effectively these are all the little ideas that I had and rather than putting them all up individually I've decided to create a one-shot collection_ _. Updates are Saturday Mornings (UK time) every week._

 _Anyway, please enjoy! If you do, please favourite, follow, review, what have you, you can come find me on Twitter under the same username minus the 's' on the end if you really want. Let me know what you think and please enjoy!_

* * *

 _Primrose teaches Cyrus to dance. Mild spoilers for Prim's chapters 2 and 3._

* * *

Learning the Steps

"Shall we try a simple waltz?" Primrose asked, stretching her arms above her head.

"Whatever you think is best, my dear," Cyrus replied, carefully draping his cloak over the back of a chair. "I am your pupil, after all!"

Primrose rolled her eyes. "Very well. Watch my feet, Professor."

And so, in the middle of the former brothel in Stillsnow, Primrose began carefully measuring out the waltz to no music as Professor Albright attentively stared. Although her feet moved as intricately and carefully as could be, her thoughts were on anything but the steps she was performing. She was instead thinking of Arianna, her dear old friend who was finally free; of Yusufa, her more recent friend who had performed the waltz with far more grace than she...

Mostly, she was thinking of her home in Noblecourt and whether or not she'd find a Crow in the town she never thought she'd return to.

Her steps slowed - though Cyrus still focused intensely on them - as her thoughts travelled to a time long ago when she had first been taught. Her father had been her teacher in the beginning, but his harsh words made teaching a young girl to dance a challenge that often ended with the young lady running to the garden in tears. There, she'd find her next, more gentle teacher...

She came to an abrupt stop. A stop that didn't go unnoticed by her attentive companion.

"Is something the matter, Lady Primrose?" Cyrus asked, looking up from her feet to her red face.

"It's nothing..." She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memories that would not stop coming. "Maybe it would be better for you to join me, rather than just standing there?"

"If you think that's best," Cyrus moved to stand before her. "I fear I may still be all too likely to step on your toes."

"Practice makes perfect," she muttered as she showed him how to hold her as the lead. "No one learns anything by just watching."

"Right you are. Still, I apologise for the inevitable toe stomping."

"Very well." She smiled, tossing her head back as she, too, got into position and looked up at the Professor. "Let's begin with the box step."

After a few encouraging tries (and far too many toe stomps) it appeared that Cyrus might have finally figured out the most basic of steps.

"We appear to have danced an entire minute without you stepping on my toes," Primrose smiled up at him. "I'm impressed."

Cyrus chuckled. "I must apologise again for my clumsy steps. As a child I was far more interested in my books than my poise and before I knew it I was a man full grown with no sense of rhythm. Nowadays, I fear I might be too far gone to learn even the most basic of steps."

"It's never too late to learn, Professor." She responded, amused by his all-consuming attention on his feet.

"Right you are!" A pause hung over them for a moment before Cyrus cleared his throat and asked, "... Would you permit me a question, Lady Primrose?"

"Just Primrose is fine, Professor. But, yes, what is it?"

"Who were you taught to dance by?"

Primrose let the question hang long enough for the Professor to look up at her. "Forgive me for asking, this is clearly a sensitive subject. It's simply that... when you were demonstrating for me earlier, you had such a sad look in your eye, nothing like how you look when your performing for others. It was a look of such painful reminiscence that I felt the need to ask-"

"My father taught me the waltz." Said she simply. "We had many balls at house Azelhart, and he wouldn't dare let the other nobles in town look down on us because he had a daughter that couldn't dance. But, his firm hand could only teach so much... I learnt most of my trade from another."

A pause lingered over the two of them as they continued their slow waltz.

"...He meant a lot to you, didn't he?" Cyrus asked, his eyes seeing more than she said.

"My father? Absolutely, he meant more than the world to me."

"That much is evident in everything you do, my dear." He smiled gently. "I meant the other man, the man who taught you how to dance with purpose and soul."

"... Watch your feet, Cyrus, you've not tripped up in a while now."

"Of course." He turned his attention back to his feet. "Whomever that man was, I hope you can meet him again, once all this is over. I'm sure he'll be more than impressed to see what an amazing and beautiful woman you've become."

Grateful that Cyrus' attention was on his feet, Primrose couldn't hide her blush at his words. From the bottom of her heart, a small amount of hope remained, desperately clinging to the idea that Simeon would accept her for all she was now; would know that all the hardship she'd endured on the road to revenge had only been possible thanks to the hope that she'd see him again...

Though, currently, she only hoped that the charming Professor wouldn't stand on her feet again as she smiled through her blush. "Remind me why you're on this journey again, Professor? I just can't seem to wrap my head around why a young girl would be _so_ smitten with you..."

* * *

 _AN:_

 _N_ _ow that this story's been running for a while, I no longer put spoiler warnings before stories. If anyone reading wants to avoid spoilers, here's an ongoing list of all the spoiler free stories in Travel On:_

 _6\. Never Have I..._

 _7\. Swindling a Swindler_

 _11\. Axes, Swords and Salves_

 _18\. Heels_

 _25\. The Best Present_

 _27\. Fruit Loaves and Father Figures_

 _29\. Professor Albright's Type_

 _32\. Full House_

 _43\. Small Boys (Heels pt. 2)_

 _45\. Another Mountain Town_

 _48\. What the Ribbons Hide_

 _49\. Guided by Morals_

 _56\. Sleep Deprived Study_

 _57\. A Sharpened Blade (Tragedy)_

 _58\. Loosen Up, Priestess!_

 _60\. Hidden Scholar_

 _67\. An Honest Answer_

 _72\. A Different Perspective_

 _88\. Three of a Kind (Full House pt. 2)_

 _90\. Hornburgian History_

 _92\. To Put a Price on Help_

 _94\. War Cleric_

 _If another story catches your eye but you can't tell where it takes place in OT and therefore what the spoilers might be, feel free to PM me and I'll let you know._

* * *

 _AN 2:_

 _Here's a list of all the 'Characters for The Gate' stories throughout Travel On. These all relate to the five 'What Happened at The Gate of Finis?' stories at the end of this fic and take place after each character's story._

 _19\. Knights of a Lost Kingdom (Erhardt)_

 _20\. One More Adventure (Leon)_

 _23\. A Shot at Redemption (Vanessa)_

 _42\. Wash Away the Blood (Ogen)_

 _51\. Deceiving Looks (Ned & Cecily)_

 _55\. One Last Job (Alaic)_

 _69\. To Make Amends (Lianna)_

 _80\. The Solitary Scholar (Odette)_

 _84\. Sworn Service (Eliza)_

 _87\. More Valuable Than Leaves (Ali)_

 _93\. Beyond the Village (Zeph)_

 _97\. Aged Arrows (Z'aanta)_


	2. Drinking to Forget

_Therion gives Alfyn some much needed emotional support. Major spoilers for Alfyn's Ch 3._

* * *

Drinking to Forget

Midnight had been Therion's favourite time of day for many years now.

Under the cover of darkness, he was able to steal with far more ease than during the day and those that he found in the tavern this time of night were either still celebrating – therefore trusting and easy to pickpocket – or drowning their sorrows in the weak mead or strong wine they brewed here in Saintsbridge – also easy targets once you got them talking about their grief.

Making his way from the inn to the tavern with a pocket picked here and a purse stolen there, Therion spared no thought for those he was hurting, thinking only of how these stolen goods would benefit him and those he was traveling with. Though Tressa would scream bloody murder at him if she found out he was stealing from potential customers, she was happy to turn a blind eye when she saw the 'treasures' he'd purloined every morning – although he made a point of never showing Ophilia his stolen goods; Tressa might forgive and forget, but it was best not to cross the cleric.

Arriving at the tavern, the thief saw the usual sight – a few drunken partiers paying a little too much attention to the dancing girl (though she looked about as dangerous as their own dancer, so Therion wasn't too worried for her); and a few more angry drunks just waiting for the word to send them brawling. A small smile on his features as he surveyed the impending chaos, he almost missed the lone blonde man sat at the bar, his head bowed and flagon of mead sat empty in front of him.

Cursing his new-found compassion, Therion took a seat next to Alfyn.

"A round for me and my friend here." He ordered the barkeep, plonking a few leaves down as he gave them their drinks.

Alfyn looked up in confusion at Therion before taking a sip. "Thanks." Said he simply as they clinked their rims and drank in silence.

"What are you doing up, Therion?" Alfyn asked after a few moments, his voice lacking its usual prep and cheer.

"Prime stealing time." He replied simply as Alfyn rolled his eyes. Despite all their reservations about his trade, they'd all (perhaps tentatively) accepted it as they travelled together across Orsterra. "Though, I could be asking you much the same question."

Alfyn drank in silence.

Biting down his desire not to get involved, Therion sighed. "Alright, what's bothering you, medicine man?"

Silence descended on them again as Alfyn continued to look away from the thief. Beginning to think he'd never reply, Therion looked away himself.

Finally, very quietly, Alfyn asked, "How many men have you killed, Therion?"

"… More than my fair share, though none without reason." He answered honestly though evasively as he realised what was eating at the apothecary. "Is this about Miguel?"

"I've never had reason to kill a man afore," Alfyn still looked away. "And the only reason I did today was 'cause of my own actions. But if I _hadn't_ … I'ma healer, but, what if some people _don't_ deserve to be saved? What do I do then?"

"You carry on," Therion said simply, looking his companion in the eye as he finally turned to face him. "Head held high, knowing you did the right thing. And if you realise you made a mistake, you fix it – just like you did today."

"Therion…"

Though he'd never been in quite the same situation as Alfyn, Therion could understand and even empathise with the man. During his younger days, he'd had many doubts about the path he treaded and whether those he stole from needed what he took more than he did. But, he'd had a partner by his side to assuage those thoughts, at least in the beginning. And when his partner became the route of those doubts and fears…

"Tonight, we drink to forget." Therion held his flagon high, holding the other man's eyes with his own. "And tomorrow, we wake up, drink one of your hangover tonics, and carry on the path we tread, content in the knowledge that we fix our mistakes as we make them. …Deal?"

There were tears in the apothecary's eyes as he raised his drink. "Shucks, Therion." He smiled, finally looking like himself again. "Deal."

They clinked rims and drank the watery mead down, ordering another round as soon as the flagons hit the bar.

Before long, they were as merry as the others celebrating there that night, laughing together as Alfyn told the more sober thief stories that he'd certainly forget in the morning. Despite being relatively sober, Therion decided to put his smile and the warm feeling in his body down to the mead, not the fact that he was laughing with a companion once again…

* * *

 _Please feel free to let me know if you have any suggestions for future chapters!_


	3. Fencing 101

_AN:_ _Just letting you know that, for the next month,_ _I'll be updating this twice a week - one at this time and one on Wednesdays in the evening (UK time). This is only because I have a stupidly long backlog of stories to upload and it makes more sense for me to upload twice a week to get through them and onto my more recent pieces. This double upload might become a permanent thing, but it's only scheduled until the last Saturday of September for now._

 _Also, a quick thank you to everyone who's favourited and followed this! It's already doing much better than I thought it would and I hope you enjoy the coming stories!_

 _Anyway, on with this chapter!_

* * *

 _Olberic gets a little help when teaching Tressa how to wield a sword... Post Olberic's Ch 3._

* * *

Fencing 101

"Your stance is wrong." Olberic said simply as he coached Tressa on how to hold a wield a sword.

They'd been at it for about an hour now in the Wellspring training grounds – after their victory against the Lizardmen, the local soldiers had been all too willing to let them use the grounds at their leisure – and Olberic could honestly say he'd never had a more enthusiastic pupil. Not even Phillip had been this eager… nor this whiney.

"Oh, do I stand more like this then?" Tressa altered her stance, still putting too much weight on her front foot for his liking.

"No…" He began to position her himself, gently moving her to stand in a proper warrior's stance. "Like this."

"But, Sir Olberic, this _huuurts_!" Tressa complained as her muscles strained to keep her still.

"'Tis the price we have to pay."

"When can I start hitting things?" She asked, standing naturally again and making a whip like motion with her training broadsword.

Olberic fought down the urge to sigh in anger – truly he'd never had a more impatient student. "Once you've learnt how to hold the warrior's pose. Try again."

"Ugghhh…" Tressa made a noise as she tried getting into the correct stance again, though Olberic didn't hear her over the sound of chuckling behind them. Both turning to look at the source of the noise, they saw Erhardt sauntering up to them.

"What are you doing here, Erhardt?" Olberic asked, more of an accusation in his voice than he intended. Though they had finally buried the metaphorical hatchet, a grudge like that doesn't simply disappear after a duel, as much as they both may wish otherwise.

"I'd heard you were yet to leave town and wondered why you tarried," he chuckled again. "Now the answer's all too clear. You were never much of a teacher, Olberic."

"Then why did King Alfred always make _me_ train the new recruits?" He crossed his arms at Erhardt's accusation.

"Because you were the best swordsman he had." Erhardt grabbed a training dummy from the corner and placed it in front of Tressa. He unsheathed his sword and stood next to her. "'Til I came along, that is."

"You were not a better swordsman than I."

"Not to begin with, mayhap, and certainly not now," Erhardt slashed cleanly at the dummy with a reminiscing smile. "But for a while there… Why don't I help you learn the basics, young merchant?"

"Uhhh…" Tressa hesitated, in awe of the other knight's skill and slightly confused about the fact that these two knights were fighting over who got to train her. "Sure, Sir Erhardt, if you'd like. … It's Tressa, by the way."

"Very well, Tressa." He smiled at her. "The trick to fencing is to simply hit your opponent as hard as you can."

"Really?" Tressa asked sceptically as she saw Olberic run a hand down his face in frustration.

Erhardt took a step away and gestured at the dummy before her. "Give it a try."

Looking at the former Twin Blades of Hornburg stood next to each other, Tressa could feel the enormous weight of pressure on her shoulders as they waited to see who's teachings she'd follow. With a shrug, she swung the blade with both hands as hard as she could against the dummy. "Haaah!"

The blade got stuck sideways in its chest.

"Um…" Tressa glanced over at the two knights as she tried pulling the blade out to no avail; Erhardt was trying his hardest not to laugh while Olberic simply stood with his arms crossed and eyebrow raised. "It's stuck…"

At her mumbled sentence and struggling to pull it back out, Erhardt couldn't hold his laughter in any longer; Olberic just sighed and wandered over to the dummy, pulling the blade out with ease.

"The blade got caught like that because you were not standing in the correct stance." He said, handing it back to her. "Warrior's pose, again."

"Oh, come now, Olberic," Erhardt said as he stopped laughing, moving to stand next to him besides Tressa. With the two of them so close together and towering over her like that, they practically blocked out the sun. "Were she to hit an opponent like that, they would be as dead as if she were to hit them correctly, would they not?"

"Perhaps." Olberic agreed. "But it is the incorrect way to strike a foe."

"That matters not! Dead is dead, unless they've changed things since the war."

"Still, there is a proper way to go about the sword-"

"Oh, please!" Erhardt exclaimed, interrupting Olberic angrily. "Were you following the 'correct way' of fencing, you would have given this slight girl a one-handed light blade, not a two-handed broadsword!"

"Tressa asked _me_ how to fence, Erhardt, not you!" Olberic shouted back. "As such, I shall teach her how to correctly fight like myself."

"A terrible idea." The blond knight said simply.

"And why's that? Not moments ago you were admitting that I am a better swordsman than you."

"That you are," Erhardt admitted again, nodding calmly as Tressa watched them argue. "Though the way of the broadsword is not the way young Tressa should follow. She is too slight to perform the techniques effectively."

"For the last time, Erhardt," Olberic drew himself up, surprising Tressa with the fact that he was actually a much larger man than his friend. "I shall teach my pupils however I please."

The two stood threateningly before each other, staring each other down. Tressa feared another duel between the two men was imminent unless she stepped in. "Um, your Lordships?"

The two men turned to face her, still glaring slightly and so much taller than she – a few weeks ago, she would've quaked in her boots at such a sight, now… She smiled up at them. "Maybe you could both teach me? It would be an honour to learn to fence from the two greatest knights in the realm!"

The two men turned to face each other, a little sheepishly, before nodding together.

"Very well." Said Olberic. "We shall both teach you."

Tressa beamed and both knights smiled back honestly before catching themselves and hoping the other one didn't notice.

"I shall fetch you a lighter blade." Erhardt muttered, rushing off to the weapon's corner.

"Yes, a one-handed blade might be best," Olberic agreed quietly, scratching his neck. "Though you will have to teach her the correct stance for it, Erhardt, it has been so long since I last used one I fear I may have forgotten the basics."

And so it was, with a little flattery and a lot of smiles, that Tressa began to learn the art of fencing from the two greatest knights in the realm – the Twin Blades of Hornburg themselves. She'd have to thank Primrose later for teaching her how to flatter men _just_ enough to get what you wanted. Perhaps she'd ask her for a second lesson…


	4. A Trip to the Jewellers

_Ophilia takes H'aanit to Stoneguard's jewellers. Post H'aanit Ch 2, loosely based on their character banter, but minimal spoilers. (Secretly subtle self-indulgent H'aanilia, you likely won't notice it unless you're looking.)_

* * *

A Trip to the Jewellers

Despite being eager to move her search for Susanna on to Stillsnow, H'aanit was willing to delay leaving Stoneguard until her and her companions wounds healed, if only at at Alfyn's request. If nothing else, it would give her the opportunity to spend some more time with Ophilia.

Having not known the cleric for long, H'aanit knew little about her other than her overwhelming compassion for others and kind nature. It was also apparent that she was perhaps the most beautiful of their little group - not that Primrose would take that very well if she ever heard H'aanit say that – so it shouldn't have surprised her when she asked H'aanit to visit the local jewellers with her while they healed up.

"Thou wolde liken _me_ to accompany thee?" H'aanit had asked in surprise when Ophilia approached her in her inn room the morning after finding her Master in the woods. "Wolde not Primrose haven a better eye for jewellery?"

"Probably," Ophilia nodded, scratching Linde's chin as she purred on H'aanit's lap. "But Primrose didn't call me a beauty yesterday."

H'aanit flushed. "That ist true…" She paused as she looked at the purring leopard on her lap. "Wolde thou be willing to waiten until Linde awakens?"

Ophilia chuckled, giving the leopard a good scritch. "Of course, H'aanit."

So, later that day, the two girls and a leopard left the inn in search of a jewellers, a few thousand leaves in their purse and Linde's tail contentedly held high.

It soon became apparent to Ophilia that H'aanit and Linde weren't used to large settlements like Stoneguard as the huntress asked about this shop or the other, seemingly unaware of what even the most common were. Linde's tail soon lowered in apprehension as people started giving her odd or frightened looks.

"Ben still, Linde," H'aanit scratched Linde's ear. "These folk meanen thee no ill."

Linde growled softly.

"You don't often leave S'warkii, do you, H'aanit?" Ophilia asked as they started down the steps to the lower section of the town.

"Nay," she shook her head. "I don not often have reason to leaven the Dark Wood, seldom do we travel further than Victors Hollow."

"I see… So this is all a new experience for you then?"

"Indeed." H'aanit gestured to Linde as they reached the jewellers, seeming to silently order her to sit and stay outside. "I will not denyen that travelling so far from the forest is daunting."

"I imagine it is," Ophilia held the door open for her. "But the Flame and I will be here to guide you every step of the way."

"Thanke thee." The huntress smiled down on the cleric, truly grateful for her words even if she didn't necessarily follow the teachings of the church.

She glanced around the quiet jewellers (there were only a few other prospective customers looking at the wares), looking at the various necklaces and earrings on display in confused interest. She'd never had much need for jewellery in her profession, the necklace around her neck was the only thing that held any major value for her since it was a memento of her departed parents, though she was also fond of the feather earrings she'd made... Other jewellery, though, often confused her and looked all too similar to one another. "Art thou lookening for any item in particular?"

"No," Ophilia delicately shook her head as she stared at a necklace. "Just browsing really."

H'aanit laughed. "'Tis a strange thing."

"What is?" Ophilia asked in confusion, looking over at her friend.

"Women-folk's interest in these shiny trinkets that holden no sentimental value to them."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Ophilia smiled sheepishly before an item just behind H'aanit caught her eye. "Oh, H'aanit, look!"

"Where?" She reached for her axe automatically before remembering that she'd left it in the inn at Ophilia's request. "Oh, thou meanst at jewellery."

"Yes! What did you think…?" The cleric shook her head as she trailed off. "Nevermind. Look at this!"

In her hand, Ophilia held a beautiful band with emeralds braided in on blown glass wires. Even H'aanit could appreciate its beauty, not that she knew what exactly it was. "'Tis beautiful."

"Isn't it!" She put it back in its display and reached for H'aanit's flyaway braid.

"What art thou doing?" Asked the huntress as Ophilia began to pull her hair loose.

Ophilia didn't answer, she only loosened H'aanit's hair and looked at it a little enviously – what she wouldn't give for such soft luscious locks! – before picking the band back up. "You wear this band in your hair, but I don't think it'll fit over your braid."

"Oh." H'aanit bent her knees a little at the cleric's gesture, allowing her to put the band in her hair gently. "Well then."

"Oh, H'aanit!" Ophilia exclaimed, her hands clasped at her mouth in happiness. "It looks beautiful!"

"Truly?" Asked H'aanit as she gently probed at it before Ophilia gestured to the mirror for her to look in. Taking in her reflection, the huntress could appreciate that the band was stunning – it even framed her face well and made her look more mature, like a woman of the world, not a huntress from the forest. But when would she ever have the occasion to wear such an item?

As she looked at her reflection some more, she noticed movement behind Ophilia. In the corner of the mirror, H'aanit saw a lowly pickpocket carefully steal the cleric's purse full of leaves.

"Stoppen!" She shouted at them, making them turn guiltily before rushing out of the jewellers. The two girls were hot on their heels after only a glance at each other communicating what had happened. The shop owner was too confused by everything to even register that the huntress had just run out of their store with an item on her head.

Linde was on her feet as soon as her master rushed out of the shop, the trio following after the crazed thief who seemed to feel the need to rush into people. Ophilia felt the need to apologise to everyone they passed, a tiny 'excuse me!' here and a startled 'sorry!' there; meanwhile, H'aanit was hot on the trail of the thief, regretting that her friend had made her leave her weapons at the inn. Thankfully, she still had Linde at her side.

"Pouncen, Linde!" She ordered the leopard as they crossed the bridge into the main area of Stoneguard.

With a growl of understanding, Linde leaped, her giant paws catching the thief off-guard. In just a few moments, she had the thief pinned under her, growling angrily in their face as her claws dug into their arms.

"Thanke thee, Linde." H'aanit scratched her leopard's cheek as she reached for the thief's pockets, digging around until she found Ophilia's purse. The cleric jogged up to them, slightly surprised by the sight of a snow leopard pinning a thief down, her master knelt picking the pockets of the thief casually.

Honestly, the most surprising sight was H'aanit's hair loose around her waist and held up by that beautiful band.

"Here." The huntress threw the purse at Ophilia as she stood up, Linde loosening the thief from her grasp and letting them limp away in embarrassment. "That belongs to thee, I believe?"

"Thank you, H'aanit." Said Ophilia, still a little surprised by the whole encounter. "You are far quicker and observant that I gave you credit for."

"Such ist the way of the hunter," she smiled, gently touching the band in her hair. "Besides, we needen those leaves to purchase this trinket."

"Really?"

"Indeed. I have grown rather fond of it, after all, thou picken'd it out for me."

Ophilia grinned, clutching her purse to her heart in happiness. Now, whatever happened with them, their journey and what came after, H'aanit would always have a way to remember her. … And look gorgeous doing so.

"Ophilia? Art thou well?" H'aanit asked as the cleric's cheeks continued to redden.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine." She chuckled, fanning her cheeks. "Let's get back to the shop, shall we? We don't want them thinking we're thieves too."

"Of course." H'aanit smiled, also a little flushed as the two walked side by side back to the jewellers, only Linde between them.


	5. One Last Nightmare

_AN: Just a quick thing, this is the first of the character death chapters I've written. Obviously, I understand a lot of people don't enjoy these kind of tragedies so every week that I post a character death there will **always** be a second update that week (not really important now since there was going to be one anyway, but going forward after this month)._

 _Anyway, as always, I hope you like this, let me know if you have any ideas going forward!_

* * *

 _Having been stabbed by Simeon, Primrose finds herself slipping into a dream like state... Major Ch 3 spoilers for Primrose._

* * *

One Last Nightmare

"Sim… eon…"

 _A young girl sat on her windowsill, skirt splayed about her with the air of negligent disinterest. Her hair had been elaborately arranged to look the best it possibly could, cascading down her shoulders in carefree waves, as careless as the smile that gently creased her features._

 _The girl was from a noble house, though what they were called escapes her. She remembers that there is to be a ball honouring her house and father tonight, one she has been practising for for weeks. Although… she did not always practise with her father. No, most of the time she practised with another, one not of noble birth._

 _Outside the glass, she could see him, watering the flowers and trimming the rose bushes. The gardener's prentice, not much older than she yet a man full grown. Some of the town folk apparently looked down on their courtship, not that the girl ever cared. If her father approved, that was enough for her; she needed no one else's approval._

 _Even from her second story window, she could hear him humming his latest poem for her, one she couldn't wait to hear. For when she was alone, the silence felt all too quiet, her arms all too cold. If left alone for too long she could hear her shallow breaths, her fast beating heart._

She could feel the cold touch of death.

 _For a moment, he glanced up at her window, a frown on his features. 'Twas not a pleasant sight, to see her lover frown so. But then he smiled, that smile she'd come to love as much as her own, as he realised she was there, looking down on him as he worked, waiting for him to grace her with his presence._

 _And yet…_

 _Something about his smile today made her hesitate. Though the same as any other smile of his, there was something behind it, some memory in her head as distant as her name that made her uneasy._

Was he not the same man she'd come to love?

 _Her thoughts turned silent as she saw him wave up at her. 'Twas such a simple thing, and yet it made her heart sing. For a man to love her as she loved him, why, it was something she could only dream of!_

 _Soon, he was knocking at her door. "My Lady?"_

" _Enter."_

 _And so he did, smile on his face and bouquet of small, white flowers in his hand. In spite of working in the gardens all morning, he was dressed as prim, proper and clean as ever. Though, his cravat was slightly askew at his neck – an odd sight indeed._

 _Not that the girl really payed that much attention to his appearance, her heart was too busy beating out of her chest at the sight of him._

" _What have you brought me today-" She hesitated on his name, seeming to have forgotten it along with her own. Not that it was important really, only her feelings mattered._

 _He didn't even notice her stumble over it, his slightly odd smile never wavering. "Just some flowers I found out in the garden, my dear."_

 _She took the bouquet from him eagerly, looking at the five petaled white flowers with familiarity though forgetting their name as well. She was forgetting so much today… "What are they called?"_

"Lady Primrose!"

 _The girl shook her head. Now she was hearing a different man's voice as well – one she recognised, deep, deep in her mind, yet couldn't put a name to. This ball had her all in a tis._

" _Are you alright, my lady?" Her lover asked._

 _In truth, she didn't know. But, she was simply happy he was here with her, to warm her fast beating heart and increasingly cold arms._

" _Tell me a poem, my love." She said, looking up at him with her bright, bright eyes, light reflecting through the window into them._

 _The man smiled at her, that same slightly unsettling smile as before. His smile was all she could see, her room becoming increasingly darker and him seeming to fade further and further away, though still so clear in her eyes. It was as though a spotlight was on him in a darkened play…_

" _If you insist." He drew himself up, hand at his cravat and white hair whipping about him despite the lack of wind as he began walking towards her._

Her heart beat faster.

 _He sang her a poem that she was sure she'd never heard before, yet one she felt she'd heard not two hours ago. Her memories were truly all over the place…_

" _And when the moon waxes full and bright in dark heaven,_

 _And the stars glitter worlds away from earthly sorrow,_

 _Would that Sleep hold you in her soft embrace._

 _Then shall my eyes close,_

 _Lips open in prayer,_

 _For it is only in dreams that we may meet again."_

"Simeon…"

" _Do you like the poem, Lady Primrose?" Asked the man now much older, his voice sarcastic and dark. His cravat was long gone and at his neck was the mark of a foul scavenger._

 _The girl – no longer a girl but a woman grown, dressed in red dancer clothes – cowered. At her breast, a trail of darkening red continued to run steadily, warming her stomach yet leaving the rest of her body cold as ice. She could not speak, could not scream, could not do anything but watch the man she loved come closer, step by step._

Over the years she had endured and lost so much. The beatings, the assault, the atrocities and deaths, all of them and more she had endured, seeing her former lover in her mind's eye at her darkest moments, hearing his poems giving her comfort in the hardest times. All her life she had wondered what he'd think if he were to see who she was now.

Not once had she thought about what he could've become.

Not once did she dare to think he was the man who'd killed her father.

" _What say you we give it an encore, hm?" He stood over her, towering over her dying body._

"Sim… eon… no…"

" _And in the wood, where often you and I," he knelt down, looking her in the eye as he quoted the great playwright._

" _Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie," he put a hand to her bleeding heart, seemingly trying to stop the blood flow._

" _Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,_

 _There my lover and myself shall meet."_

"Ah-h!"

 _The man put his hand in her wound, pulling it wider as her heart convulsed and breathing shallowed to gasps._

" _Really now, Primrose," said he sweetly, as his hand moved to grip her heart. "Even you should've seen this coming. Your life was a tragedy from the moment you first drew breath - a truly beautiful one at that."_

"Sim… eon…!"

" _I do wonder though," the man mused, thoughts going off on another tangent as he thought about the famous playwright. With a dark little smile, he pulled her heart from her wound, taking it with him as she breathed her last breaths._

How fitting that the man she had so willingly given her heart to would be so willing to abuse it like any other…

" _It's true what they say," he said as he watched her die, begging for life._ " _A rose by any other name bleeds just as red. And a tragedy under any other guise, well… It's just as sweet."_

 _And so he laughed._

Laughed, laughed… It filled her ears, echoed in her mind…

And was the last thing she heard as she died there on the floor, next to the right hand man she'd just killed...

Just one crow short…


	6. Never Have I

_The group takes a break one night to play a drinking game that Therion 'made up'. Spoiler free!_

* * *

Never Have I…

Tressa and Ophilia entered the tavern to find their fellow travellers laughing at a table together, some a little far gone with drink.

It was late at night and they had a long way to go the next day, so the two girls had been surprised when the rest of them hadn't shown up to the inn by 10. Now it was nearing midnight and all too clear that they'd been messing about instead of focusing on the tasks at hand. And leaving two of their companions out of the fun while they were at it.

Sure, since both Tressa and Ophilia were underage by most of Orsterra's standards, they didn't often visit the tavern with the rest of them (Ophilia being a woman of the church, she wouldn't drink regardless of her age), but it still stung to be left out of group activities. Something that Tressa made the rest of the group all too aware of.

"Hey!" She shouted at them, causing the laughter to cease immediately. "What the hell do you guys think you're doing?!"

"Tressa! Ophilia!" Cyrus called to them, still mostly sober – considering the sheer number of drinks on the table and state of the others, that was rather surprising. "Join us! We're playing a game Therion made up!"

"I didn't make it up," Therion muttered into his tankard, a little far gone with drink – a shock considering his tolerance. "I use it to gather information from people."

"How's that goin' for you, drinky?" Alfyn asked, a larger than life grin on his face.

"Shut up."

"What is this 'game' and why weren't Tressa and I invited?" Ophilia asked simply, arms crossed. Ophilia angry was something the whole group wanted to avoid.

"'Tis a drinkening gamen," H'aanit slurred, even harder to understand intoxicated – though, considering she rarely drank, it _was_ a very rare sight. "One musten drinken every timen one hast donen what someone elsen hast not donen."

"Less 'n's H'aanit, please!" Primrose laughed. "You're becoming impossible to understand!"

H'aanit only laughed in response.

"I'm glad to see you're spending your time wisely." Ophilia said at the same time as Tressa said, "Can we join?"

"The more the merrier!" Olberic announced, somehow lounder drunk. "Barkeep! Another round and two non-alcoholics!"

"Pull upa chair!" Alfyn said, as Tressa did, leaving Ophilia sighing as she too pulled up a chair.

The barkeep put down their trays of drinks and left them too it as they all clamoured for their tankards.

"How does this work?" Tressa asked as Ophilia rolled her eyes again; she hated being mother to a group of people older than her.

"Someone says they've never done something," Therion said, explaining his little blackmail gathering game. "And if you've done it, you have to drink and tell the story – if we want to hear it."

"Sounds simple enough," Tressa said, eager to begin. "Who starts?"

"Shucks, well," Alfyn blinked like an owl. "I went last so…" He looked to his right at Olberic. "Yer next, yer Lordship."

"Very well." Olberic raised his glass and voice – not that he needed to, they could probably hear him in the ruins of Hornburg. "Never have I… Kissed someone of the same sex!"

"So you have to drink if you have?" Tressa asked as H'aanit and Cyrus drank.

"Yes." Therion said as the rest of the group raised their eyebrows at the Professor and Huntress.

"Okay!" Tressa drank too.

"What the…" Primrose breathed. "Explain. All of you."

They stared at Tressa first. She shrugged. "I was playing a game with my friends when I was younger and got dared to kiss one of the girls, so I did. Nothing more to it."

"Very well. … Professor?" Therion turned his attention to Cyrus, filling away all this information for later.

"I was a scholarly type, even as a lad. Do you expect a scholar not to experience everything they can?"

"Didst thou enjoyen it?" H'aanit asked, curious.

He shrugged. "I've liked things less."

Primrose scoffed. "Ugh, you're probably one of those scholars who licks old artefacts, aren't you?"

"That is not the current question."

The dancer raised her eyebrow, "I know what I'm asking next." She murmured into her flagon as Cyrus gave her a look.

"And lady hunter?" Therion asked.

H'aanit gave the littlest of shrugs as she admitted, "I liken not men."

The group blink collectively before all professing their support of her 'alternative lifestyle'.

"It matteren not," the huntress interrupted them. "What matteren now'st that it is my turn. And I havest never… Swindled a merchant."

Only Therion drank. "What a surprise." He muttered. "Want to hear the story?"

"I think we'll survive." Primrose said loftily.

"Your loss."

"My turn." The dancer said, looking Cyrus in the eye as she said, "Never have I licked an old artefact."

The Professor didn't drink, though Tressa, Alfyn and Olberic did.

"What?" Ophilia laughed, finally starting to enjoy herself as she realised she'd done very little out of the ordinary. "When did any of you lick old artefacts?"

"I do it a lot to judge whether something's as old as someone tells me it is in my trades." Tressa admitted. "It's not that weird."

"…Of course not." Primrose raised an eyebrow, turning her attention to Alfyn. "Well?"

He blushed and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "… I thought it was chocolate."

The group laughed, apart from Olberic, who was realising that his story was the most embarrassing of the three.

"Alright, yer Lordship, yer next." Alfyn said as the laughing died down.

"Must I?"

"Yes." Said Therion, leaning in.

"Very well." He sighed. "I was young and drunk with Erhardt in King Alfred's chamber one night and one dare lead to another… Next I remember we were naked and he dared me to lick the King's Crown. It was over five centuries old, so I think it counts as an artefact."

"What did it taste like?" Cyrus asked in genuine curiosity as Primrose scoffed again.

"Have you ever licked a leaf, Professor?" He asked in response, holding up a coin.

Cyrus shook his head. "Can't say I have."

The knight flicked the coin across the table for Cyrus to lick. He did and made a face. "Well then…" He pocketed the leaf before Olberic could ask for it back.

"Well, this has been eye opening," Therion muttered, before announcing, "But I believe it is my turn now."

"Wait!" Tressa interrupted. "Sir Olberic, what did Erhardt look like naked?"

"Why do you want to know?" Ophilia asked as Olberic answered, "'Tis an image I'd rather forget, young merchant."

Tressa blushed in dissatisfaction as Ophilia continued to look at her.

"Never have I," Therion started immediately with no preamble, "questioned the path I tread."

All but Ophilia and H'aanit drank.

"I thinke it ist more telling that thou and I didst not drinken, Sister Ophilia."

"Indeed," Ophilia said as she looked closely at Therion. "Though it _is_ surprising that Master Thief hasn't too."

Therion shrugged. "I'm no good for much else."

They sat in silence for a moment, no one wanting to admit their stories this time.

Cyrus cleared his throat. "I believe it is my turn?"

"Stage is yours, Professor," Primrose gestured to the table.

"Well then," Cyrus cleared his throat again, beginning to look tired as a result of all the alcohol. "Never have I… had sex."

"There's a surprise," Primrose muttered sourly before drinking with everyone but the two youngest girls and Professor.

"I doubt anyone particularly wants to tell their stories this time," Ophilia said delicately, protective of the merchant at her side.

Primrose continued to drink. "You've got that right, Sister."

The rest of the group looked a little worriedly at the dancer chugging her tankard before Therion punched the Professor in the arm.

"We stayed away from that one for a reason, Al _dumb_."

"OW!" He exclaimed, rubbing his arm. "My apologies."

They waited for Primrose to finish her drink and slam the tankard to the side. "Anot-"

H'aanit interrupted her order. "I thinken not. If thou needst drink, thou canst sharen mine."

"Very well," She looked over at the cleric. "Though I should honestly take Ophilia's; she's not drank this whole game."

"Truly?" H'aanit asked the girl in surprise.

She shrugged as she pushed her non-alcoholic towards the dancer. "I'm a holy woman; were I to do a lot of the things you've said, I'd lose my staff."

They all sort of nodded in understanding and agreement.

"But, I do believe it is my turn…" Ophilia cleared her throat and raised her voice, desperately trying to think of something interesting. "Never have I… um… Knocked a person out?"

Looking at her a little odd, they all drank.

"Yes, that was, silly of me…" Ophilia cleared her throat again. "Tressa?"

"You've really not done a lot have you, Sister?" Tressa asked before starting her statement. "Well, regardless, I doubt you've done what I'm going to say: I have never been kicked out of a town."

Primrose, H'aanit, Cyrus and Therion drank.

"Stories, if you please." Olberic said simply.

"Caught stealing." Said Therion.

"A person was not a fan of my _Allure_." Said Primrose.

"The mayor wast afraiden of Linde." Said H'aanit.

"I asked a few too many questions," Said Cyrus. "Apparently, some people find that suspicious."

"Don't do any a that on our journey, would ya?" Alfyn said as he straightened up in his chair, his turn awaiting him. Honestly, Ophilia had thought him asleep for a while there but he looked as attentive as ever, if not a little quiet.

"I'm not making any promises," Therion said. "Your turn, medicine man."

"Shucks, okay, this is a good one." Alfyn smiled broadly as he said, "Never have I seen anyone in our group naked!"

Everyone, including Ophilia, drank with small smiles.

"What the shucks?! Really?!"

"Don't you remember, a couple of weeks ago?" Primrose asked, barely containing her laughter.

"You came to the common room of the inn we were staying at?" Olberic prompted, also grinning broadly.

"We were all there, sitting around and chatting casually, when you came in-"

"And gaven Linde quite the frighten." H'aanit interrupted Tressa.

"Right, and said-" Therion continued only to have Cyrus interrupt.

"' _Hey, Professor, how does this look to ya? Think I've got a problem.'_ "

"And then promptly turned around so that we could all see you nude." Ophilia finished, sending them all into gales of laughter.

"You most certainly did not have a problem, my apothecary friend." Cyrus said between laughs as Alfyn blushed brighter than Primrose's dress.

"Anything but, truly." Olberic commented before breaking down again.

"Bollocks." Alfyn muttered, sliding low in his chair.

"Indeed!" Primrose shouted, sending them all into even more hysterics.

"Okay, ya know what!" Alfyn shouted at them. "None a ya are getting hangover tonics in the mornin'!"

Everyone but the two young girls started cutting deals with him between laughs. They simply looked at each other as they laughed, grateful that they'd come searching for their friends after all. The journey could wait, friendships were being forged.

* * *

 _Fun Fact!_

 _This was the idea that sparked the entire Travel On concept and I still find it absolutely adorable!_

 _(Also, this will be the usual Wednesday update time for the month.)_


	7. Swindling a Swindler

_When Primrose finds herself swindled by a merchant, she seeks justice through the most unlikely of sources. Contextually post Tressa's Ch 2 but no spoilers._

* * *

Swindling a Swindler

"Hey, Tressa?" Primrose approached the young merchant early one afternoon. She'd been writing her most recent adventure here in Quarrycrest in her diary that morning while the rest of her fellow travellers were out on the streets offering their services to people or shopping for more resources. It'd been nice to have some time to herself, alone in the girl's shared inn room, while the rest of them were doing their own thing.

But, upon seeing the noble turned dancer coming into their room in confusion, Tressa assumed that her alone time was over. Not that she minded that much, she was just starting to get lonely anyway.

"Yes, Primrose?" She responded, putting her diary back in her bag.

"How much would you say this necklace is worth?" Primrose held out a simple ruby pendant on a gold chain. It was not the same necklace she usually wore and Tressa was interested in knowing where she got such a beautiful and simple piece from - until she saw it up close that was.

The chain was actually made of a common metal painted gold, already rusting in more than one place, and the ruby was – in actuality – a smooth pebble polished with some kind of shiny red dye. Whoever had given it to Primrose had made an impressive looking piece that could've fooled many, but not a merchant like her.

"Hmmm…" Tressa hummed, appraising it carefully. "It's a good imitation of something valuable, though this necklace itself is made of very cheap materials. In my professional opinion… No more than 250 leaves at a maximum."

"I knew it." The dancer took back the necklace in anger. "That conniving-"

"Did you buy it from a merchant here in town?" Tressa interrupted her.

"Yes. I got swindled out of a good 2000 leaves for being a fool and thinking it a precious piece."

"You're not a fool, Lady Primrose!" Exclaimed the merchant, already slipping into trying to make the older girl feel better. "That necklace could've fooled anyone!"

"But not _you_." Primrose turned to her, eyes sharp.

"Well… no, I wouldn't be much of a merchant if I couldn't tell the imitations from the genuine treasures."

"…You know who else wouldn't be much of _his_ profession if _he_ didn't have an eye for genuine treasures?" Primrose asked, a revenge plan on the conniving merchant forming behind her sultry eyes.

"Primrose, no!" Tressa tried to stop her as she started to leave the room. "The merchant who swindled you is probably already long gone, it's not worth it-!"

"No one takes advantage of an Azelhart." Said the dancer with conviction, looking down at the other girl. "You can come with me to try and get my leaves back or you can stay here, Tressa. Your choice."

The young merchant swayed in she spot for a moment. She was a good kid, the kind who hadn't done anything wrong at all in her life. If she went with Primrose, she knew she'd be going down a path far less noble than any she'd ever treaded before…

Quite the tale for her diary, wouldn't you say?

She nodded to Primrose, grabbing her hat from the hook by their door. "Happy to help!"

Primrose smiled at her, feeling only a little bad at bringing an innocent into her petty revenge plan – though she _had_ already offered her aid in tracking down the crows… "We're going to need _professional_ help if we want to make this bastard pay."

"Right." Tressa nodded as she crossed the hall that separated the women's rooms from the men's at this inn, making her way to one door in particular. Glancing over at Primrose, the dancer nodded, and they knocked together.

"What do you want?" Therion asked in general distaste as he saw the merchant and dancer outside his room.

"We're on our way to swindle a merchant who swindled Primrose," Tressa said simply, holding up the counterfeit necklace. "And we need your help."

Therion looked the necklace over in interest before looking between the two girls. "How much did he charge you for it?"

"2000 leaves."

The thief whistled lowly. "Impressive." After a moment more looking at the necklace, he nodded. "I'm game. I'll even steal the original from him for you."

"What a steal!" Tressa muttered under her breath as Therion handed the fake back to Primrose and closed the door behind him.

"…That's… Exactly what this is going to be, Tressa…" The thief replied in slight confusion before turning to the dancer. "You sure you want to bring her along?"

Primrose looked at Tressa a little sadly. "You might be right, Therion… Tressa, why don't you just watch from a distance?"

"I can be-!" She started to object before thinking better of it. If the two of them were going to talk down to her like she was a child, objecting to them certainly wouldn't help. She growled instead. "Mrgrgr… Fine."

And so it came to pass, that a dancer and thief known to harass people in this town, approached the merchant who'd swindled Primrose as Tressa watched on.

From what she could see, Primrose approached the man first, her hand at the fake necklace adoring her neck. She seemed to be telling him all about how nice it was that he'd sold her it, asking him if he wanted to get a closer look as she flaunted her cleavage. Meanwhile, Therion was sneaking around behind him to pick his purse and merchant's bag. Tressa watched their actions in amusement, knowing full-well that they'd been caught doing stuff like this on more than one occasion in town – if they weren't careful and subtle, they might be asked to leave soon.

The swindling merchant blushed at Primrose, seeming to be on the brink of agreeing to go to the tavern with her when he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, knocking his hand's against Therion's who was undoing his bag's bindings. All three froze for a moment, understanding that they'd all been caught doing something that they shouldn't have, it was now a simple question of who would run first.

It was the merchant, running for his life in the general direction that Tressa was hiding in as the other two chased after him, daggers drawn.

It turned out they didn't need their daggers. Tressa used her polearm as a baton, smashing it into the swindler's knees and sending him flying down the stairs that lead to the lower portion of the town. As soon as he hit the floor at the bottom step, he was out cold.

"Oops." Tressa muttered, skipping down the stairs to check on the man as the other two stood at the top of them, staring at the girl in astonishment.

Instead of checking on him, she simply lifted his purse from his body and pulled the real necklace from a pouch in his bag, holding them up for the other two to see. "These what you wanted?"

"Tressa!" Primrose exclaimed as she started walking down the stairs. "How did you-?"

But before she could ask her question, a crowd had gathered, already demanding that the three of them be run out of town for hurting so honest a merchant. The three shared a glance as the crowd got louder, before legging it out of Quarrycrest, laughing as they ran.

The rest of their travelling companions would berate them for this when they found out later, but for now… They ran, winds of fortune at their sides as they laughed together.

It was safe to say that was the last time any of them underestimated Tressa.


	8. At the Bottom of the Cliff

_Tragedy: What if Therion had died the day Darius pushed him off the cliff? Spoilers for Therion's Chapter 3/general story._

* * *

At the Bottom of the Cliff

Darius's laugh cut deeper than his betrayal. That joy he seemed to get from pushing his partner, his _friend_ off that cliff… It cut deeper than anything Therion had ever felt…

Save the dagger that Darius had just stabbed him with.

As he fell from the cliff, Therion knew that – if he angled himself right – he could use the trees below to break his fall. He'd be battered and broken to be sure, both in body _and_ spirit, but he'd be alive.

But what if he didn't want to live?

A naïf with no home, no friends, nothing to call his own save the treasures that had once meant so much to others… What right did he have to live? What else could life offer him but more heartache and pain, more betrayal and distrust?

And so Therion closed his eyes as he fell back first – not a care in the world what happened to him next.

Perhaps the Gods would be merciful, spare him where those who lived would not. Perhaps they'd be merciful in another way and provide him with a swift death, one that left him feeling no more pain. Or, perhaps, they had forsaken him all those years ago and what happened to him next was in his own hands.

The latter proved true as the young thief crashed into the stone ground, impaling himself on a stalagmite that widened the cut from Darius' dagger.

Shock and pain ran through his body like ice. Blood splattered about his head as it cracked against the ground, not quite hard enough to kill him quickly. And the stalagmite that had pierced his body held him to the spot, too tall for him to push himself off of in this state.

 _Death it is then,_ Therion thought to himself, resigning himself to his fate in much the same way he'd resigned himself to thievery back on the streets after he stole his first apple. With great difficulty and pain, he closed his eyes, willing the process of bleeding out to be swift.

He'd killed more than his fair share of men in his short time on this planet, but he'd always been swift with their deaths were possible. Everyone's last moments were painful however you sliced it; more often than not, they'd be alone or without anyone to say goodbye to in the flesh like Therion was now. He figured he might as well send his victims off quickly, make that suffering a little less painful for everyone involved.

So how fitting it was that Death seemed to be reluctant to take him quickly.

Some would call it karma for his crimes, others would say he deserved to be killed more painfully to atone for his sins… All of them would probably agree that being alone in his last moments was exactly what he deserved.

He chuckled darkly to think of how things could've gone differently. Perhaps, had he lived, he could've made Darius atone for his sins – made him feel the same pain as everyone he'd betrayed (or would go on to) did. Perhaps, had he lived, he could also atone for his own sins, change his ways for the better and make himself a better man.

Or, most likely, he would've gotten up and carried on, a new burden of betrayal on his shoulders but nothing more weighing him down.

The stone beneath him was warmer than he was now, coated in his already drying blood as Death came ever closer.

"Is this… what you… wanted… _Partner_ …?" Therion asked the air, his eyes closed and mouth thick with blood. "Is this… _really_ … how you… thought it would… end…?"

Slowly he started to laugh again, his heart beat ever faltering in his icy chest. "Good… riddance… Darius…"

And he coughed. Choked on his last gasps of air and the blood in his throat. His eyes snapped open, seeing no more now than they could when they'd been shut.

Death was here.

"Help me… partner…" The thief called out to his partner, desperation taking a hold of him in his last moments.

Not that it mattered. He didn't live but a second longer.

His body left for the scavengers, his treasures for the archaeologists, Therion choked out his last breath. His eyes ever open to the injustices of the world as he died and Darius lived on.


	9. The Mark of a Fool

_Apologies for two Therion centric stories in a row, the next one takes a step back from him to focus on all the guys though, so look forward to that!_

* * *

 _Therion finds himself, once again, reflecting on that confounded bangle around his wrist at the end of a long day. Spoilers for Therion's Chapter 2 onwards and locational spoilers for Tressa's and Olberic's 3._

* * *

The Mark of a Fool

The group Therion travelled with wanted to stop off at Victor's Hollow for Tressa's sake before heading down to Wellspring. Since both he and Sir Olberic had a date with fate there, it seemed only fair that they travel there as soon as possible, though both had been willing to delay their travels for Tressa's sake – if only because she got a little loud when she didn't get what she wanted.

And so, after a long day of adventuring with the kid and finding a treasure he desperately wanted to steal from her when she wasn't looking, Therion had retired to the inn early, thoughts of betrayal and distrust hanging heavily in his mind.

It was a strange thing, him travelling with these other misfit travellers. It was an even stranger thing to see them so willingly take him under their wing, seemingly incapable of thinking he'd betray them and steal all their leaves. Sure, he'd been tempted from time to time, but every time the urge to steal came he'd take a close look at those he travelled with:

A woman of the Flame who gave her money to the poor and helpless; a scholar to whom leaves of gold meant less than the leaves of a tome; a former knight turned village sellsword who's leaves were always running a little low; a former highborn noble who now made her way through life by flattering lonely men who paid for the pleasure; an apothecary who often forgot to charge for his services; and a hunter from these woods who wouldn't know what a fortune looked like if it came up and bit her. Truly, the only one worth stealing from was the young merchant, but Therion just couldn't bring himself to do anything that would make the girl lose her faith in humanity not long after she'd found it.

He guessed they were right to assume that he wouldn't rob them blind at a moment's notice, though it was disconcerting for him to realise that every time he thought about it.

Fearing his new found compassion and trust, Therion often retired to his bed early these days. Each year seemed to be making him a little softer and sappier than the last and he wasn't sure he liked that. His trade depended on him having a hardened heart and often no companions who would miss him were he to suddenly disappear, and – though he had enough treasures hidden here and there across Orsterra to retire at 22 – he wasn't ready to say goodbye to thievery yet.

Catching a look at himself in the mirror before he went to bed, Therion noticed the bangle at his wrist once again. _This_ was what was causing all these unnecessary feelings. … Not that he could do anything about it until he'd completed what Heathcote and Cordelia had bade him do.

Looking at the bangle again, Therion thought back to his most recent interaction with Lady Ravus and how he'd told her not to remove it. He'd told her he didn't want it removed because there was no guarantee that he'd uphold his end of their promise with it gone, yet… He knew he would've. Bangle or no, he wanted to see those stones returned to their rightful owner, if only so he'd have a new story to tell at the next tavern.

But… There was more to it than that.

Some part of Therion seemed to think that he deserved to wear this bangle around as punishment for his mistake. He seemed to think that people deserved to see it and think him a fool for being out-witted by an old butler.

"Stupid Heathcote." He muttered to himself as he fiddled with the bangle, trying to make it sit a little more comfortably. "Just where did he learn to put these on in the first place?"

Quite suddenly, as he pulled at the chain at the bangle's side, it opened, falling to the floor with a _thunk!_

"!?" Therion looked at his unshackled wrist and the mark of shame at his feet in confusion. Had it been unlocked the entire time? Had the old butler really been that much of an idiot?

No. He shook his head as he looked the bangle over. He was sure it'd been locked when it had first been put on, he remembered quite clearly tugging at it to get it off before arriving in Noblecourt. So, it must've been unlocked when he last met with Lady Ravus and her butler a few days ago. But when…

"The old coot." Therion laughed, suddenly understanding. Heathcote gave him more credit than he was worth – and the thief gave the old man far less credit than he did.

During the exchange when Cordelia had ordered her butler remove the band, he'd apparently unlocked it on the sly, seeming to expect that Therion would figure out and act accordingly. Though, did the old man _really_ think he wouldn't try to run from responsibility now that he was technically free?

Because he was right.

Slipping the bangle back onto his wrist, Therion chuckled a little to himself. He doubted he could ever explain why he decided he still needed to wear this band, why he still _wanted_ to, but here he was.

Perhaps he was losing his edge as a thief, becoming sentimental in his travels with these other misfit strangers, and yet…

"The mark of a fool indeed…"

Perhaps Therion would take being sappy and sentimental over being a master thief any day of the week.


	10. Guys Night Out

_AN:_ _Since today is the last Wednesday of September, today is the last day that I'll be posting twice a week. From now on, this will go back to just being uploaded Saturday mornings (UK), the only exception being character death/tragedy weeks when I'll upload twice just so there's something a bit lighter to read later that week for those who don't enjoy character deaths._

 _Thank you all so much for your interaction so far! This is already my most viewed piece and I hope you continue to read it going forward! Again, if you have any ideas or suggestions on what you'd like me to write, don't hesitate to let me know! Though it might be a while before you see it since I currently have 14 chapter backlog..._

 _Enjoy!_

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 _The guys challenge each other to a drinking contest with a surprising outcome... Loosely based on the four mens' tavern dialogue and set after all four of their stories are finished - only really spoilers for Alfyn's and Olberic's chapter 4s though._

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Guys Night Out

As the sun set on the long week they'd spent in Orewell, Olberic, Cyrus, Therion and Alfyn made their way to the tavern. During the course of their travels, they'd all promised Alfyn a flagon on them at one point or another and what better time for him to cash in those drinks than right now? With Ogen out of the metaphorical woods and his own sense of purpose restored after finding out the fate of the man who'd saved his life, Alfyn felt that celebrations with new found friends were in order.

So, he called up all their offers for drinks and took them to the tavern, intending to turn their offers and celebrations into a competition that would decide – once and for all – who could hold their spirits the best.

Cyrus was apprehensive to say the least. As a scholar, he needed his wits about him more than he needed a cold glass of ale. However, that wasn't to say that his tolerance was low. In fact, over the course of his three decades, Cyrus had sampled most of the spirits in Orsterra at least once, most twice. He called it his scholarly duty to try everything he could while he walked this realm, though in truth he was slowly building up his tolerance for when Odette inevitably took him out drinking again – no one wanted a repeat of _that_ embarrassing incident.

While Cyrus was confident that he could hold his own for a fair while, he was sure he'd be out drunk by the other men. Therion would know his limits the best of any of them; he wouldn't much of a thief if he couldn't hold his liquor. Olberic – big warrior that he was – would likely outlast them all, though Cyrus couldn't be sure he'd ever actually seen the man drink during their travels. And then there was Alfyn, truly the wildcard of the bunch. Despite being the youngest of the men, Cyrus had seen him drink like a hardened drunkard on more than one occasion – perhaps he'd be the one to beat them all like he assumed he would.

"Alright, gentlemen!" The apothecary called them to attention as they sat down at a table. "Since y'all owe me a round, how's 'bout we do the next four as rounds of our favourites?"

"A solid plan, my medicinal friend," Olberic replied, already pumped and eager to win.

" _Next_ four?" Therion asked, picking up on the same inconsistency in his statement that Cyrus had. "What are we starting with?"

"A shot of their strongest." Alfyn answered as the barkeep brought them four shots – Cyrus stared at them in surprise and confusion, when had the blond ordered them?

"Standard rules, I assume?" Olberic asked as he took his glass.

"Yep!" Alfyn took his own with a larger than life grin. "Last one under the table wins!"

"And by that logic," Cyrus took his own glass, looking at it in interest, "the first one under the table loses, correct?"

"No need to say the same thing twice, _Professor_." Therion took his drink. "No one needs to feel like we can't enjoy this game in silence."

"Well then," Alfyn held up his shot, waiting for the other men to do the same. "Let the games begin!"

They clinked rims before flicking back the spirit. Cyrus scrunched his face up in mild disgust.

"Barkeep! A round of mead for the table!" Alfyn ordered as soon as his glass hit wood. The competition had begun.

"If it's all the same with you, gentlemen," Cyrus said as the flagons arrived. "I think I'd rather drink at my own pace."

"Not a problem, Cyrus," Olberic said in reply, flagon already in his fist. "As long as you are drinking the same amount, pace matters not!"

"Very well then." Cyrus pulled a book from his cloak as he took up his own flagon. "Let the second round begin."

They clinked flagon rims and set to work on their mead. Olberic and Alfyn sat chatting amicably after their first swig while Cyrus turned his own attention to his tome and understanding the mysteries within. Therion drank in silence, looking from the two men to the scholar in interest as he tried to decide who would be the best to side himself with.

"… Do you often drink and read, Cyrus?" Therion asked the scholar after a few moments.

"No, only on occasion. But it _is_ a good way to keep your mind agile as it wishes to go to sleep."

Therion raised his visible eyebrow before laughing into his flagon. "There's a chance you might beat all of us, you know."

"Oh, I doubt that," Cyrus looked up from his tome. "My competition is a master thief, one of the former blades of Hornburg and an apothecary who loves his mead as much as his tonics. I doubt I last longer than any one of you."

"Thats quitter's talk, Professor!" Alfyn announced, banging his almost empty flagon on the table. "If you're so sure, why don'tcha order the next round?"

The scholar shrugged. "If you insist." He called to the bartender. "A round of beer next, my good man!"

"Beer?" Olberic asked in surprise. "I would not have thought you a fan of such, Cyrus."

"In truth, I only like certain kinds," they finished their flagons and pushed them to the side as the tankards of beer arrived. "The one they brew here in the Clifflands is rather delightful."

"I've found that myself," Therion muttered into his tankard as they started their third drink. Soon, Cyrus suspected, weak men would start to fall.

"How many different places have you drank, Therion?" Alfyn asked as Cyrus turned his attention back to his tome.

"Just about every tavern here in Orsterra." The thief answered. "Though I often drink in _silence_ to hear the rumours."

"And what has been your favourite drink, my good thief?" Olberic asked, a little loud already.

"Keep my profession a little quieter, would you?" Therion hissed, eyes darting around the steadily filling tavern. He was already starting to look a little red in the face.

"Sorry." Alfyn apologised for the warrior. "But what is your poison, Therion?"

"…Ale. Strong and cold from the Dark Wood."

"A round of your finest ale, Sir!" Olberic called to the keeper for the thief as he finished his tankard. Cyrus looked down at his half empty tankard in dismay; there was no way he could keep pace with these men.

"How's the ale, friend?" Olberic asked as soon as their drinks hit the table.

Instead of snapping something witty about not having tried it yet in reply, Therion took his ale and drank heartily. "Far from the worst, but it's no Dark Wood brew."

"I feel the same about wine," Olberic nodded in reply. "Not yet have I found a wine half as good as those we used to brew in Hornburg."

"Really?" Alfyn asked. Though also a little red in the face, Alfyn appeared to be the most sober of the three men. Cyrus himself was still finishing his beer, though he felt no different now than he had almost three drinks ago.

"Truely." Olberic nodded. "Once, when I was still young, Erhardt challenged me to a competition much like this. We drank ourselves to insanity on our Hornburgian wine."

Olberic started laughing, Alfyn joining in after but a moment. "Barkeep! A round of your oldest wine!"

"Make it four bottles of your finest, good sir!" Olberic changed their order between giggles. "On me!"

Therion looked down at his ale in despair. "I think I may be beat…"

"A smart thief knows his limits." Cyrus muttered to the young man as the scholar took up his ale for the first sip.

"But a competitive thief keeps drinking." Therion flicked the rest of his ale down as their bottles arrived. "I'm in this to win, not to keep my wits about me."

"As you wish." Cyrus watched him uncork the wine in interest; a competitive Therion was a rare sight, and far from a pretty one.

And so it came to pass, at the half a bottle of wine mark, that Therion fell out of the competition.

"Are you alright there, Therion?" Cyrus asked, looking up from his tome as he started to notice the man swaying on his seat. He'd only just uncorked his bottle, letting it breathe while the rest of them were halfway through theirs.

"I'ma gonna…" Therion slurred, looking at the Professor in confusion. "I'ma gonna beat chu all…"

"You sure 'bout that, buddy?" Alfyn asked, face flushed and smile larger than Cyrus had ever seen it. Olberic laughed – he'd been laughing like that for a while now.

"I'ma… I'ma…" Therion knocked his wine bottle over as his head hit the table; snoring as soon as his head hit wood.

"Good Gods." Cyrus muttered in surprise as Alfyn checked him over and Olberic picked the spilt bottle up – laughing the whole while.

"He's fine!" Alfyn declared, clinking his wine with Olberic's as he joined the warrior's laughter.

"The competition claims it's loser!" Olberic roared – Cyrus suspected Erhardt could hear him in Wellspring. "Who's next?!"

And so the competition continued, Cyrus watching the two other men with growing interest. Despite being only half a bottle of wine behind them, he was almost as sober as he'd been when he started. He knew himself well enough to know that he was a little merrier than usual, the smile on his face lasting a little longer than it should've and an unusual flush to his pale cheeks. And yet, he was nothing compared to the other men.

Olberic had been laughing for far too long now – apparently he was a loud, giggly drunk – and Alfyn was looking more and more tired by the second. It was too close to call between the two men, and yet it appeared Therion had been right.

It appeared that Cyrus was going to fall beneath the table last.

"How peculiar…" He muttered into his bottle of wine as the two other men finished theirs.

"I cans go all nite, Old-Oldberic!" Alfyn slurred, eyes groggy.

"As can I, lad!" Olberic shouted, laughing as soon as he'd said his piece.

"Barkeepsh-!" Alfyn hiccupped. "A rounds of yer…"

"Alfyn?" Cyrus called to the man as he trailed off, concerned that if he fell there'd be no one here who'd know how to patch him up.

"A rounds…" Alfyn tried again, trailing off immediately as he fell from his chair into a pile on the floor.

"Alfyn!" Cyrus called, on his feet to check the man immediately, all merriness falling to the wayside.

Therion didn't even stir.

"Quick! Where's our healer?!" Olberic shouted as soon as he realised Alfyn had fell, a few seconds after it had happened.

" _He's_ our healer, Olberic!" Cyrus shouted back at him as he felt for the man's pulse. He was clearly still breathing and his heart was beating fine, the scholar was only worried he had a concussion.

"Oh yes." The warrior nodded in understanding before raising his voice to shout. "Where's our HEALER?!"

"He's right-" Cyrus started, exasperated, only for the man opening the tavern door to cut him off.

"I'm right here."

"Master Ogen!" Olberic shouted to him, making the old apothecary wince. "Come drink with us!"

"No, Olberic!" Cyrus shouted at him as he presented his empty wine bottle to Ogen.

"What in the hells happened here?" Ogen asked the scholar in confusion as he knelt down besides Alfyn.

"A drinking competition between lightweights." The barkeep answered throwing the whole tavern into gales of laughter – including Olberic.

"They were indeed lightweights!"

"So are you, you dunce." Cyrus said in response to Olberic who seemed to have forgotten that he had been outdrank like the other two. He looked over at the apothecary opposite him. "Will Alfyn be alright?"

"Aye." Ogen stood and brushed off his hands. "Get him to bed and a give him a hangover tonic in the morning, he'll be fine."

"Thank you, Ogen." Cyrus stood too, looking over at the sleeping Therion as he did. "Would it be impolite of me to ask you to carry Therion back to the inn for us? I fear I'll have my hands full with Alfyn."

Before Ogen could answer Olberic knelt down and picked up Alfyn, flinging him over his shoulder like was a traveling sack. "Worry not, young scholar! I shall carry our medicinal friend!"

"Olberic, no!" Cyrus shouted to the knight as Ogen started to laugh.

"I'll follow you to the inn and make sure your large friend doesn't drop Alfyn over the side of a bridge." Said Ogen with a chuckle, waiting by the door for Cyrus to pick up Therion.

Dropping a few leaves on the table as a tip, Cyrus knelt down and gently picked up Therion, fearing waking the man and making him embarrassed to see himself carried bride-style. The thief weighed little more than some of the heaviest tomes Cyrus had carried in his life, so he had no difficulty carrying the man and his tome out of the tavern, following after Olberic and Ogen.

About halfway across the bridge, Therion stirred as if he was waking only to snuggle himself closer to the scholar and drift back into a deep sleep. A little embarrassed by the interaction, Cyrus blushed to himself and carried on.

After a treacherous few minutes' walk, they arrived at the inn. With a grin, Ogen led the way to their shared quarters and helped Cyrus open the door. Olberic marched through and dropped Alfyn unceremoniously onto one of the four beds as Cyrus laid Therion down carefully on another.

"Well then!" Said Olberic suddenly, surprising both the scholar and old apothecary who were checking Therion over. They looked over at the knight quick enough to watch him collapse on top of Alfyn, snoring immediately.

"Oh dear…" Cyrus muttered as Ogen snorted, going over to check the knight as well.

"How many drinks did they have?" Asked the apothecary as he judged whether or not Olberic needed to be moved off of Alfyn.

"Therion had four and a half bottle of wine," Cyrus said, counting in his head to be sure. "And the other two the same and the full bottle of wine."

"Lightweights indeed." Ogen laughed, standing up next to the bed. "They'll all be fine, just make sure they drink a lot of water tomorrow."

"That's good to hear," Cyrus took the seat at the desk in the room, exhausted from having to keep an eye on the three others. "Thank you, Ogen."

"It's the least I can do after everything Alfyn's done for me," Ogen admitted before giving the scholar a hard look. "How much have you had to drink, er…?"

"Professor Cyrus Albright," he introduced himself, remembering that he hadn't actually done so to the apothecary before. "And the same as Therion."

"Yet you're sober as a tack?" Asked he in surprise.

"I suppose I am," Cyrus shrugged, as surprised as Ogen was that he'd been the last man standing.

He laughed, "Never underestimate a scholar, huh, Cyrus?"

"Indeed." Cyrus laughed in response.

The two chatted for a little while – Cyrus wanted to be sure the rest would be well in the morning – before Ogen eventually left, leaving orders for Cyrus to get some rest as well. After watching him leave, the scholar turned to the desk and pulled out his tome from his cloak. Looking around to make sure the rest were sleeping soundly, he also pulled out his left-over wine.

"I believe I win." Cyrus smiled to himself as he uncorked his bottle and lit the candle, settling in for a night of study much the same as any other. Only this time, he did it in the knowledge that he _would_ beat Odette at drunk trivia night next time she proposed it.


	11. Axes, Swords and Salves

_Earlier than usual update today because I'm attending a wedding that's going to take up most of the rest of the day. Hope you all have a lovely weekend!_

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 _Alfyn watches Olberic and H'aanit spar, bandages and tonics at the ready. Set just after everyone's Chapter 1s, no spoilers._

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Axes, Swords and Salves

"Have at you!" With Olberic's shout, the duel between him and H'aanit began.

Alfyn watched from his spot at the side of the field in interest, Linde curled up happily besides him. In truth, he was only there for when one injured the other, but he couldn't say he hadn't jumped at the opportunity to watch their two best fighters spar.

They'd been travelling together for a while now, this little group of eight misfits with their own dreams and ambitions, and they certainly all had their talents. Primrose and Therion are quick to flee from encounters when they arise but are more than happy to end someone if they need to; Tressa's a defensive fighter who won't hurt anyone until they've hurt her; Cyrus is more than happy to burn enemies alive with his spells (the Gods only knew how he'd become so proficient in them); and Ophilia and Alfyn himself are there to heal their wounds, hurting others only when the need is dire enough.

It was safe to say that their strongest fighters were the Huntress and Knight. And yet, even the two of them had their strengths and weaknesses: Olberic might be proficient in both the lance and sword but he couldn't cast a spell if the world depended on it and H'aanit might know how to fight with a bow and axe, but most of the time she'd be lost without her beastly companions. Yet, here she was, fighting Olberic with only her axe as Linde purred contentedly in her sleep. Likewise, Olberic had left his spear in the inn that morning before starting the duel, fighting only with his unbending blade.

Despite the fact that the huntress was perhaps less proficient with her axe than her bow, she knew a weapon disadvantage when she saw one. So she fought with her long handed axe, deftly dodging as Olberic came at her. That was what Alfyn found most interesting as they fought, the fact that Olberic was all offence while H'aanit was all defence. It was like one of Primrose's more intricate dances was being performed before his very eyes.

With a large swing from the warrior here, the huntress would deftly dodge under it, hooking her axe around the sword to keep it down as she kicked out at the older man. Yes, Olberic might have age and practise, but H'aanit had talent and skill, the kind of lithe frame that could nimbly escape damage while Olberic had the large build that could take a beating. It was safe to say that the two of them were well suited to their professions.

They fought on, neither one yet drawing first blood – that was how they'd decided they would determine who'd won – as Alfyn watched in continued interest as he mixed up a tonic to soothe sore muscles and restore stamina. These two fighters could become as exhausted as anyone else, though after a much longer time to be sure.

"Comen at me, Olberic!" H'aanit shouted as she crouched beneath another sword swing, catching it with her axe to force it into the grass before going at him with her freed axe as he struggled to pull the sword free from the ground. The apothecary watched the axe techniques in interest.

As an apothecary, his first duty is to heal people, but sometimes one needs to hurt people further before they can heal them. So, he'd carried a small hatchet with him for many years now, hiding under his apothecary robes should he need it. Zeph had told him about the few people his father had cured who had needed to have a limb amputated in order to survive, which is why he'd been the one to recommend that little hatchet he now carried.

Never had Alfyn thought he could use an axe like H'aanit was to protect himself from attackers without having to hurt them. Never had Alfyn thought using an axe could be so elegant.

"Haaargh!" They both shouted as they ran at each other like jousters against a list, weapons at their sides.

Linde stirred, her nose turned suddenly in the direction of her master as Alfyn watched what was surely the culmination of the duel in interest. The hunter and knight both fell to their knee, hands against the shoulder that faced one another.

"Who wolden thought thou and I wolde draw first blood togetheren?" H'aanit asked with a little chuckle, her hand slowing the bleeding at her shoulder.

"Not I, that's for sure." Olberic also chuckled, his hand also against the cut at his shoulder – the two had been sparing in simple linens, their usual attire safely put away in their inn rooms. "You are a worthy adversary."

"As art thou," H'aanit stood and helped the other man to his feet with her free hand. "Once Master ist returned, thou might even ben a worthy challenge for him."

"Aye?" Olberic took her hand and stood. "I look forward to that day."

The two stood like that for a moment, hands clasped together in solidarity and friendship even as they bled. Alfyn could tell that they now saw each other as worthy travelling companions, so now it was time to prove himself one to them too.

"Alright, come over," he called as he spread his tonics and bandages. "Let's get the two o' you cleaned up."

"You have my thanks." Olberic said pre-emptively as he walked over, looking at the arranged tonics in interest. "Although, I would much rather tie my own bandages."

"I, too, wolde rather taken care of mineself." H'aanit picked up one of the bandage rolls curiously, accidently unfurling it a little as Linde watched on with large, playful eyes.

"As you wish," Alfyn nodded, knowing better than to get involved when asked not to. That said, after about two minutes of watching the two fighters helplessly tie bandages around their cuts, he had to step in. "No, you're doin' it wrong. Let me help."

"This has always worked for me before," Olberic objected as Alfyn undid the messy bindings and applied a salve before reapplying them far more carefully.

"Just because it works doesn't mean it's the right way to do it," said the apothecary as he worked. "Do you want it to heal quickly and cleanly or do you want another scar?"

Olberic fidgeted and grumbled as H'aanit chuckled under her breath.

"Don't laugh, lady huntress," Alfyn warned as he tied off the warrior's bandage. "I'm comin' to change yours next."

"Havest I applied the bindings wrong too?" She asked, scratching her leopard's head.

"Yes, so let me help you." Alfyn untied her bindings and applied a salve to her shoulder too, retying the bindings carefully. "There, always clean the wound before binding it, that lowers the risk of infections."

"I see…" H'aanit looked at her bandages in interest. "We art truly lucky to ben travelling with a medicinal man."

"Aw shucks," Alfyn laughed as he presented them with the stamina tonics he'd whipped up. "I'm just happy I'm in the company of two amazing fighters!"

The three laughed together as Alfyn offered advice on how to heal themselves better in the future. Yes, everyone he was travelling with was on a journey as important as his own, was truly as talented at their professions as he was at his. He'd really lucked out to meet so many amazing people so early in his journey.


	12. A Scholar's Lecture

_Ophilia sits in on one of Cyrus' lectures back in Atlasdam. Set post story with minimal spoilers._

* * *

A Scholar's Lecture

"Are you certain you'd like to sit in on my lecture, Ophilia?" Cyrus asked as the young cleric looked eagerly into his classroom. "Since it's on the history of the Sacred Flame, I would imagine you know everything I'm about to teach already."

Ophilia nodded. "I'm sure, Professor Albright. If you don't mind me being here, that is?"

"Of course not! The more people who want to learn, the better!" He exclaimed in excitement before calming back down. "I just want to be sure you are aware that you might not gain anything from this lecture."

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" Ophilia smiled, certain she'd get something from this lecture even if it wasn't the knowledge that Cyrus was imparting.

"Very well then," Cyrus opened the door to his classroom and lead her in, pointing to the empty seat besides Therese. "Take a seat, Sister Ophilia."

And so it came to pass that Ophilia sat in on one of Cyrus' lectures after he returned to Atlasdam, _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ in his hands. But today, the history he'd be teaching was anything but the darkness that his travels had been marred with.

"Once again, you have my apologies for my tardiness," Cyrus chuckled as he addressed his class. "One of these days, I'll take to keeping a pocket watch and stop relying on my students to tell me when my classes are."

The student body chuckled, Therese next to her laughing perhaps the most heartily.

"Anyway. Today, we will be taking a closer look at the teachings of the Sacred Flame and the rite held every 20 years known as the Kindling, which I recently had the privilege of witnessing…" Cyrus' lecture began.

In truth, Ophilia payed very little attention to what he was actually teaching – she'd been taught it ever since she was taken in by his Excellency and Lianna after all. No, she was sitting in on this lecture for another reason.

After helping each other see their journeys to an end, the group she'd been travelling with had all gone their separate ways, making plans and promises to keep in touch. After about a week back in Flamesgrace, Ophilia had gotten restless and asked Lianna to beg her pardon as she took a turn around Orsterra's middle sea towns to check up on her friends – the first of which being Cyrus himself.

She had a plan for him, one that she wanted to see him safely settled into before moving on. So, she sat in on a lecture to watch how he inspired his pupils, how he kept their attention and – in more than one case – their affection. So, she watched as she wrote a letter of recommendation to the King of the Flatlands, asking him to consider her friend for the position of Headmaster now that the dust was starting to settle after Yvon and Lucia's exposés.

Since it was Cyrus that had discovered the truth about the two scholars and returned countless books to the Atlasdam libraries, it only made sense to Ophilia that he be in the running for the coveted position. And since his feelings on the distribution of knowledge had been well documented on more than one occasion, the Crown would be all too aware of the fact that he wouldn't go down the same path as those before him.

Furiously writing her recommendation, she didn't hear her friend as he started talking about the most recent Kindling, leaving out some of the more upsetting details and the name of the Flamebearer herself. She didn't hear him call her a refined and kind beauty of a soul who he respected and was grateful for meeting in the utmost. Thankfully, she also missed Therese's angry glare.

Ophilia was as consumed in writing a good letter of recommendation as Cyrus was consumed in telling the story of the Sacred Flame.

Before they both knew it, the hour had passed and it was time for them to move on.

"Well, look at the time!" Cyrus exclaimed as the guard outside the door poked his head in to tell him to hurry it up. "That's all we have time for today, make sure to do the reading necessary for our next class. If any of you need any help, I'll be in the library for the rest of today."

Cyrus nodded to the class and made his way to Ophilia even as the rest of his students were packing away their things. "So, Ophilia, what did you think?"

"It was a most enlightening lecture, Professor Albright." Ophilia nodded, hiding her letter beneath her hands.

"You truly enjoyed it? And got something useful out of it?"

She nodded again. Never much one for lying, she spoke only the truth to him, trying to hide the fact that she hadn't actually heard a word of his lecture. "I thought your passion for the subject was something others can only aspire towards, and that you are a complete inspiration to every single one of your students."

Cyrus laughed as the two of them left the classroom. "You are too kind to me, my dear!"

"I speak only the truth, Professor." Ophilia nodded, her hands folded over the letter as they walked. After a pause, she broached the subject. "Cyrus, have you ever considered applying to be Headmaster of this academy?"

He looked at her in surprise. "Truthfully, no, I haven't."

"Do you think you'd be interested? Just think of how much more knowledge you could impart if you held a position of such prestige!"

Cyrus crocked a finger around his chin in thought. "You might be right, Ophilia… However, if the journey we travelled together taught me anything, it's that I was made to be a researcher, not one to oversee other's research. I would rather be like Odette, out in the fields drawing my own hypothesises and passing on what I learn to my pupils. Were I to become Headmaster, as much as it would be nice to have access to all those tomes, I would be locked into place, unable to travel to heart's content."

Ophilia listened to the man in earnest, taking in all he said as she thought to herself. As much as she thought he would be the perfect head of this academy, she could understand his reservations and desire not to. Perhaps she'd been a little too pre-emptive in her letter writing…

With but a single muttered incantation, she turned the letter in her hands into holy light, leaving no trace that it was there at all. "Well, when you put it like that, I suppose you would be better suited to a travelling scholar than a stationary one…"

Cyrus laughed. "Right you are, my dear! …So tell me, how fares Flamesgrace?"

Now that their journeys were all over, they'd all gone their separate ways. Some still travelled, healing, stealing, buying and duelling as they went. Some returned home, purpose lost but heart content as they rebuilt their noble name and exchanged tales of the hunt. The cleric and scholar had returned home to find it much the same yet drastically different – content with their journey yet a wanderlust afire in their heart.

Perhaps the time would come when they could travel as a group again, but for now…

The two former travellers exchanged stories of the happenings in their home towns, the letters they'd received from their travelling friends with warm smiles, the need to continue travelling a veritable inferno in their hearts…


	13. The Price of Saving a Life

_AN: I cannot thank any of you enough for continuing to read this story, it means so much to me to see people favouriting/following this week in and week out and I cannot express enough how much it means to me. I hope you continue to read and enjoy this, and please don't hesitate to give me suggestions, ideas or requests for future chapters._

 _This week's chapter is another tragedy and since I know they're not everyone's cups of tea, there will be a second upload on Wednesday this week to compensate. And it's all about the girls, a sort of counterpart to Guys Night Out though significantly less alcoholic._

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 _Tragedy: Even injured, Miguel's still a mercenary. And Alfyn's just an apothecary who's made a deadly mistake. Major spoilers for Alfyn's Chapter 3._

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The Price of Saving a Life

"Miguel Twinspears has killed a hundred men if he's killed a dozen. Soldiers, mind you, not mollycoddles totin' a bag full o' weeds."

Turned out the bastard wasn't lying this time.

In but two fell swoops of his spears he'd made sure Alfyn wasn't a threat anymore. His first had knocked his legs out from under him, bringing him to his knees with no arguments. The second had taken place as he fell, stabbing him swiftly in the heart and skewering him through.

Damage not even an apothecary could heal.

He'd kicked him off his spear with a laugh, stealing what he had left in his purse and ripping Zeph's satchel from his body.

"Betcha tonics'll sell for a leaf or two." He'd laughed, sling it over his shoulder nonchalantly as he walked away. "Look a' that! Didn't need me golden goose afta all!"

His laughter echoed in the woods around them, seeming to reflect back against the tree improbably and echoing for even longer. Although, now that Alfyn thought about it, that might've just been a side-effect from his current excessive blood loss. He could only imagine the state that the poor boy before him was in, incapable of leaning up to see for himself.

To think this had all been his fault. To think that healing another could lead to the deaths of so many more…

Ogen'd been right; some lives weren't worth saving.

Not that he could do anything about that now, as he lay bleeding out.

There had only been one other time in Alfyn's life that he'd come close to dying. So young at the time, he could remember very little about what his illness had actually been, but the memory of almost dying was all too clear in his mind. It was like an icy cold had beckoned him, called to him from beyond a pair of intricate gates. It was an irresistible allure, asking, ever asking, for him to return home to Death's side.

This time, there was no beckoning, no calling, no image of gates behind his eyes. This time, the icy touch of death was a vice grip, strangling him as he struggled to breathe through the blood in his mouth. This time, Death had come for him immediately, had not tempted him away from life since he no longer had a chance to live.

Death no longer thought he had a right to live.

If Miguel went on to kill a hundred more men, those deaths would all be on Alfyn's hands for giving him a second chance. And the first of the many atrocities the man would cause with this new life was dying a few feet from him, stabbed for crying out and acting like the child he is. Alfyn could only fear what would happen when the boy's mother came here later this evening and saw the tragedy that had befallen her son. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder if Miguel would return to town and kill her too, would kill them all for the chance at a few leaves to start his life over somewhere else.

Ogen had been right; some lives weren't worth saving.

What would Zeph think when the news eventually reached him? _Would_ the news ever reach him or would he just be left to ever wonder what had happened to his friend like Alfyn wondered about the man who'd saved his life?

"Can… Can you hear me?" Alfyn mumbled to himself through the blood that clogged his throat. There wasn't long left for him now, he knew. And the poor boy… The boy was long gone. He knew even without seeing him.

"Can you… give me a sign?" Alfyn asked, tears studding his eyes. He didn't want to die yet, not like this. But the Gods didn't give you a choice in how you died. One moment you'd be living and the next…

"Can… Can you tell me… what it's like… on the other side? Is… Afterlife warm? Or is it… crushing darkness… night… after endless… night?"

Alfyn closed his eyes. "Mama? … Can you… Can you hear me… yet? … Mister Apothecary… Are you… are you here… too? Can you… forgive me… for making a… mistake… when all I wanted… was to be… like you?"

Cold, unending darkness enfolded him. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. No gate, no signpost to the river of the dead. There was only an endless night, unspeckled by the light of the stars…

"Please." Alfyn begged with his last breaths. "Please… someone… anyone… bring me… some light…"

Ogen had been right. Some lives were worth saving; others…

Not so much.


	14. Ladies Night In

_One-off middle of the week update because Saturday's story was a tragedy!_

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 _With her journey over and her future unclear, Primrose takes her new friends somewhere she never thought she'd return with a bottle of wine and heavy heart. Post Primrose's story, so spoilers for that._

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Ladies Night In

It had been a… _difficult_ few days for Primrose. First the stabbing from her childhood love... Then the recovery and determined trek to Everhold that lead her long revenge to its finale as she stabbed her former love in his breast… And then the crying as she finally visited her father's grave earlier today, Simeon's words ever running through her head as she wondered what she'd do with her life now.

" _Do you truly believe this is what he would have wanted for you?"_

Yes, it hadn't been a pleasant week for her.

So, when Tressa poked her head into her inn room to ask her if she needed anything, if she could do anything for her to ease the pain, Primrose almost burst into tears right there and then - thankful to have the young girl and all her other new-found friends on her side. It brought to her mind the image of Yusufa, Arianna, Master Forsythe and all the other people who had helped and believed in her along this long journey…

And it made her bold. Bold enough to take her female friends with her as she decided to do something she never thought she'd be able to do, bottle of wine in hand.

"Where art we headed, Primrose?" H'aanit asked, Linde ever at her side as she walked with Tressa and Ophilia behind the dancer on the streets of Noblecourt.

"We're nearly there." She simply answered as they passed the tavern and stood at the bottom of the grand steps up to her old home.

It was late in the evening now, the sun long set and weary travellers either seeking their homes for rest or the tavern for something more exciting. It was late enough that there weren't too many people on the streets and certainly none that would be paying attention to a quartet of women and a snow leopard looking up at House Azelhart.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Primrose?" Ophilia asked, reaching out a hand to reassuringly rest on her shoulder.

The dancer nodded and started walking up the steps to the place she hadn't called home in nearly a decade. Behind her, the other three girls looked between each other before starting up the stairs themselves.

"Do you still have a key?" Tressa asked as they stood before the front door.

"I don't need it." Primrose started to shuffle her way around the house to the back. "Follow me."

They did, grateful that Tressa had left her bag behind as they struggled to shimmy between the house and fence. Knowing she was a little to big for gap, Linde watched her master struggle for a few moments before leaping up to the top of the fence and walking along that.

After a few painful minutes of shuffling and shimmying, the four emerged in the gardens of the manse, Linde delicately leaping from the fence to stand with them. They watched as Primrose counted windows, looking around the garden in envy as they waited for their next move. Despite being happy with their standings in the world, the three girls couldn't help but be envious of their friend's upbringing as they looked around the still lavish gardens that had once been hers to explore to her heart's content.

"This one." Primrose muttered to herself, moving to stand beneath the third window from the left as the group turned as a collective to look at her. She turned to look at them. "Wait here a moment."

Confused, the three nodded before Primrose turned back to the house, looking up at the window assuredly. With a nod to herself, she backed up a few paces before taking a running start and leaping at the wall. Like a gymnast, she climbed the wall deftly, her hands finding the same grips she'd used so many years ago when she'd snuck out at night to see… She'd been smaller then and the placement of the grips she used certainly reflected that, but she still made her way to the window without too much difficulty.

Once at the window, she popped the glass from the frame, remembering exactly where it had been loose and exactly where she needed to rest it as she slipped it into the room. Grabbing the wood frame carefully, she slid into what had once been her bedroom, her friends watching from the ground in awe – a bright blush on Ophilia's cheeks as she tried not to stare at her exposed legs.

It hadn't changed at all (though she would've been more surprised if it had). Beneath the window was the plush bench she'd spent many a day sat on, gazing out of her window longingly at the man tending the gardens… Her bed was flush with the far wall and her disused fireplace still stood tall and proud opposite it.

A sad, wistful smile on her features as she remembered all that had transpired in this room, in all the rooms of this manse, she tugged the curtains roughly free from the pole and knotted them together before resecuring them to the pole and draping the curtain-rope out the window.

"Climb this." She called to her friends, watching as they looked between each other to decide who would be the one to try it first.

Finally, H'aanit shrugged and knelt down, patting her shoulders. "If it canst take the weight of bothe Linde and I, thou wilt have no problem."

The leopard growled softly to herself as she wrapped her paws around her master's shoulders. H'aanit stood with no difficulty as Linde secured herself to her back, making the rest of the girls suspect the two of them did this rather often. Looking at the makeshift rope in curiosity, H'aanit gripped it and tugged it with all her might, Primrose looked at where she'd secured it against the pole, happy to find that it didn't move.

"You're all clear, H'aanit." She called down to the huntress. She nodded and began to climb.

Just as her head peaked over the window ledge, she clung tight to the curtain and gestured to Linde to jump through the window. Leaning out of the way, Primrose watched Linde carefully launch herself into the room, looking around it in interest as her master shimmied through the window after her.

Tressa climbed the 'rope' next without incident before Ophilia steeled herself and began her own journey into the room. By the time she climbed in, H'aanit had cleared the fireplace and started a small fire to warm the cold, dark room.

Popping the glass back into place, Primrose turned to look at her friends who were sat in a semi-circle around the fire, Linde contentedly curled up with her head on H'aanit's lap. She couldn't hide her smile as she saw them sat there.

This was a place she was sure she'd never visit again, a place she hadn't _wanted_ to visit again, but to see her friends here now… It felt right.

"So, this used to be your room, huh, Primrose?" Tressa asked, appraising her items with her eyes.

"It did," she sat down next to the others, pulling out her bottle of wine for them to drink from. "And, yes, I could make a small fortune if I were to sell its contents."

Tressa made a face as she continued to regard the room in interest.

"What was it like growing up a noble?" Ophilia asked a little wistfully as she stoked Linde's fur.

Looking at the other girls closely, Primrose considered her words carefully before saying them. "It was something I took for granted my entire life… That said, I don't think I could return to it now."

"Nay?" H'aanit asked in interest.

"No…" Primrose hugged her legs to her chest as she drank from the bottle of wine, exposing all of her thighs in her dancer's garb.

Ophilia laughed, a rosy blush on her cheeks. "I think I can see why!"

"Oh?" Primrose asked in interest since not even she was sure why she didn't want to return to her old life.

"Although the life you lead now wasn't exactly your first choice," Ophilia started, a small smile on her face as she spoke to her friend. "And you've had to deal with much hardship and abuse on the road to revenge, you're much happier as the lady you are now rather than the girl you were when you lived here, aren't you? And while you don't know where your life will lead you next and you're currently suffering pain I can only imagine, you're finally free. Free to do whatever you want, free to _be_ whomever you want.

"You needn't return to the guise of Lady Azelhart anymore if you don't want to, you can carry on as you are now: Primrose the travelling dancer, assistant to women with dreams of travelling the world, or hunting a beast, or fulfilling a rite, everywhere."

Primrose looked at Ophilia closely, hearing all she'd said with interest as she realised the young cleric was right. She didn't _have_ to return to the life of a noble now that all was said and done, but she needn't leave her life and lineage as an Azelhart behind if she wanted to continue travelling and helping those in need. As long as she had faith in her actions and herself, she could be shielded from everyone who told her she needed to be doing something more fitting for a noble girl.

"Dammit, Ophilia." Primrose muttered into her wine as tears stood plainly in her eyes.

"Primrose!" She exclaimed, leaning over to put a hand reassuringly on her shoulder again. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No… No, you said everything right…" She chucked. "Thank you."

"Don't forget that we're here for you too, Prim!" Tressa smiled at her, self-assured as she looked at the older girl. "We love travelling with you and totally have your back wherever you go now!"

"Indeed." H'aanit nodded. "Linde and I will travel with thee as long ast thou wilt have us."

Primrose looked around the group of girls, knowing they all meant every word they said – knowing that, despite the fact that they weren't here, the men she travelled with would feel the exact same way.

The Gods had truly blessed her with this journey and the people she'd met on it. Just these three girls were worth all the abuse, the pain, the heartache and indignities she'd suffered over the years. And it truly seemed that her best were yet to come…

"So, Tressa, tell me. What was it like growing up as a merchant?" Primrose changed the subject, wanting to enjoy their company rather than wallow in her own thoughts all night. That was why she bought them here, after all.

To spend an entertaining evening as friends, getting to know one another a little better now they were coming to their journeys ends. Perhaps they'd continue to travel together a while after everything was said and done, helping those in need for even longer as they did.

Primrose could only hope she could keep her travelling companions around for a while yet, could only hope that they knew just how much they meant to her as they travelled together.


	15. Beyond Death's Gate

_The Gate of Finis is the last protection between the living world and the dead. And it liked those who passed through it to remember those they'd killed. Set in the post story dungeon, so it's literally all spoiler._

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Beyond Death's Gate

It'd been a unanimous decision to go through the Gate of Finis in an effort to stop Lyblac and save Kit. Although, if Therion was asked why he had decided to cross through the gate, he'd say he wasn't following the Witch and Traveller out of the goodness of his heart like the others.

No, he'd say he chose to cross through the Gate because he knew the disaster that would befall everyone if Galdera was revived. And, no, he wasn't putting a stop to it to save everyone else's lives but rather his own – he _was_ one of the fools who lived here in Orsterra, after all.

At least… Those where what he _wished_ his reasons for crossing the Gate of Finis were.

In truth, he _had_ come to care for people, to trust the seven he travelled with as well as those he'd met along the way. In truth, he _did_ actually want to save Kit and see the Witch burn for all her crimes.

Not that he'd tell anyone that and ruin the image he'd cultivated for himself over his lifetime as a thief.

That being said, those he travelled with had seen through the cracks of his persona once or twice now… Perhaps he shouldn't pretend in front of them anymore…

Not that he really had time to think about that as they entered the Gate of Finis and saw the land beyond, the land of the dead. If they didn't win, they wouldn't return – simple as that. So, he held his head high and dagger low, ready to fight for his – and everyone else's – life.

Beyond the gate stood eight plinths, each with a ghostly flame glowing above them. There was no sign of where Kit or Lyblac had gone, only these fires and an ominous chanting music filled the room.

After a quick consultation between themselves, Olberic, Tressa, Cyrus and Ophilia cautiously approached the flame on the second level's far left. They took up their weapons and tomes as the flame started to shift shape, eventually condensing into a figure that gave the cleric pause.

It was Mattias, the only man the cleric had killed, had needed to kill. And they needed to do so again.

Therion and the others watched in reserve, ready to sub in if needed. But, their friends brought the man to his end once again without needing them, Ophilia silently weeping as she did. As he evaporated into dust, the flame that had been on the plinth disappeared, replaced with a tome.

Cyrus approached it in interest as the travellers attended to Ophilia and Alfyn started to clean their wounds. Therion watched the scholar in interest as he looked the tome over, and in even more interest as he saw the look on his face turn grim.

"Ophilia." He said, walking down to her with the book in his hands. "I think this is for you."

Taking the book from him carefully, Ophilia opened it and started reading aloud, tears in her eyes again immediately. They all listened as she read Mattias' journal, as they learnt the depths of his desires and depravity. Primrose's eyebrows raised as she realised that he had known Simeon and the Obsidians and a determined resolve for revenge had filled the cleric's eyes as she learnt that her adoptive father had been taken from her by this man and his poison.

In disgust, she threw the journal back onto the plinth, head held high. "I will avenge you, Father."

And so they approached the next flame and fought the dead spirit of former Headmaster Yvon and allowed Cyrus to read his journal.

By the time they fought the spirit of Werner the next battle, Therion was starting to sense a pattern. Everyone they were fighting were former foes of theirs, people they had killed out of necessity. Each one was providing insight into how Lyblac had manipulated everyone to get what she wanted, revealing how all these misfit travellers who had come together for their own goals were actually interlinked.

And then they fought the poison tiger that Tressa had slain while searching for the Eldrite. And then they read the first of Graham's journals.

It'd been as heart breaking as it had been insightful, bringing Alfyn to the brink of tears as he realised that Graham must've truly died long ago for his journal to be here.

With the first four flames fought, the second team of Therion, H'aanit, Primrose and Alfyn prepared to fight the next four flames, wondering aloud who they might be and how they might be connected to everyone else.

In the course of this journey, Therion had only killed one man – Gareth. He wasn't particularly excited about fighting Darius' righthand again, but he knew what and who to expect at least.

With Simeon behind the fifth flame, the group had been expecting to read a journal by him, explaining all his nefarious deeds. Instead, Primrose picked up the journal and read the first sentence to herself before bursting into tears.

"Primrose?" H'aanit approached her carefully, a hand out in sympathy.

"I'm, I'm sorry," she muttered to them. "This is… My father's diary. Would you mind awfully if I didn't read it aloud?"

"Of course not," Tressa nodded. "Take all the time you need."

They let Primrose read in peace as Ophilia set about healing those who'd fought Simeon. Alfyn turned to H'aanit as he tied a bandage around his hand. "So, H'aanit, who do you think you'll be fighting?"

"I wolde assume it be Redeye." She said assuredly, wiping her axe on a scrap of cloth. "And thou?"

"We're about to find out." Primrose interjected, her head held high and face set. It appeared she'd silently vowed revenge on the Witch along with the rest of them, one last mission to avenge her father.

"Art thou ready?" H'aanit asked her.

"Yes. Let's do this."

So they fought the sixth flame, Miguel. It was obvious that fighting Miguel again caused Alfyn much pain, but certainly not as much as reading Graham's second diary did. The traveller they'd come in here to save, the young lad searching for his father…

He was Kit Crossford, son of the man that both Tressa and Alfyn had been honouring in their travels.

"As if I needed another reason to save him." Alfyn said assuredly as he put the journal back down and started off in the direction of the furthest flame from them.

It turned out that H'aanit wasn't fighting Redeye again, giving more credence to Therion's theory that the beast had been like Lucia – a former human turned demon. He only feared who that human was as they fought the Dragon of the Frostlands.

As she read Graham's third and final diary, H'aanit started to cry. They'd known her for many months now and not once had they seen the woman cry, yet they could completely empathise with why she was now.

Redeye had been Graham Crossford. The monster that had killed so many, the monster who's heart she couldn't read, the monster she'd killed with assurance… He'd been Kit's father. He'd once been a good, kind man.

"Damn her!" H'aanit exclaimed, plunging an arrow into the stone of the plinth with such force that it split in two. "Damn Lyblac to the farthest reaches of Hell!"

"Indeed." Olberic agreed, giving the huntress a slightly concerned look before turning his attention to the thief. "I believe the last flame is yours, Therion?"

"I guess so," Therion nodded as he made his way to the last flame. "You ready to fight, Gar-"

He stopped short as he saw the flame take a far too recognisable shape. Everyone they'd fought here was dead, a spirit of some monster or another that was to never return. This was the land of the dead, the land of no return.

So why? Why was he looking at the spirit… of his former partner?

"D-Darius…" He stuttered, his chest feeling tight as everyone looked on in surprise and shook. "No…"

He stumbled backwards in shock as his comrades took up arms, Primrose shouting at Olberic to sub in for Therion as he fell to the floor, heart hammering in his chest.

It couldn't be possible. It _shouldn't_ be possible. He'd been so careful when fighting Darius, so certain that none of his attacks would be fatal… Yet, here they were…

"No… Darius… He didn't deserve..."

"No, he didn't, did he?" Tressa stood over him. There was a cut on her cheek from when she'd fought the spirits on the second level. "But at least you know you didn't do it."

"Tressa. How can you be so sure of that?" Therion snapped up at her, resigned to his position on the floor.

"Because we were there, we saw him run off after you fought." Tressa held out a hand for him. "You didn't kill him, Therion, I promise. So let's get revenge for him and everyone else here. Let's burn a witch."

To see Tressa angry like this was a rare sight indeed, one Therion wasn't sure he'd seen before. But he knew she was right, he knew that they were all fighting for revenge against the witch now. And he couldn't let the shock of his partner being dead break him.

He took Tressa's hand even as the rest of them brought spirit Darius to his end.

"You alright?" Alfyn asked as he panted, a new cut at his temple. Behind him, Cyrus was grabbing the tome off the plinth.

"Yes. Sorry." Therion said, embarrassed by the way he acted.

"Don't be." Primrose said as she ate a handful of the grapes they'd brought with them. "We all would've reacted the same way."

Cyrus presented the diary to him as Ophilia set to work healing the others. "You needn't read it aloud if you'd rather not."

"No, I want everyone to hear what he has to say." Therion took the diary and opened it, interested in hearing how Darius fit into all this. Only, it wasn't Darius' diary. It was Master Ravus'.

Therion read it to the others in interest, as saddened by its contents as they were. He did keep one line to himself: the one in which Master Ravus had wished for his daughter to find someone she could trust and rely on like he did Heathcote.

If- _When_ they got out of this Gate, Therion decided he'd pay Cordelia another visit. She was the reason he was here right now, after all.

And he wouldn't have changed that for the world.

Slamming the diary shut, he put it back on the plinth as the others started to gather at the bottom of the stairs. Before joining them, he rested a hand against the stone and said a few last words to his former 'brother'.

"You didn't deserve death, Darius. But I hope, now that it's found you, you can find some sort of peace."

Tressa watched him, waiting for him halfway between him and the others at the foot of the stairs.

"So long, Partner." Therion nodded assuredly before standing and walking over to Tressa. She nodded up at him as they walked over to the others, no words needed be exchanged between them.

It was time for revenge, time to kill a witch and the dark God she was determined to resurrect.

But she'd have to get past eight angry travellers first. Eight friends and partners determined to have their revenge and save Graham's son.


	16. Ghost Stories

_A slightly longer than usual Halloween special! I've never written anything like this before, so please tell me what you think!_

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 _Tressa's not afraid of ghosts, not one bit. ...She's just not a fan of scary stories. ...Or of being told them at night, whilst camping in the Darkwood. Loosely based on the 'Fears and Aversions' Tavern Banter. Spoilers for Cyrus' chapter 4 (locationally)._

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Ghost Stories

"Waite by the fire whilst we hunten," H'aanit ordered the group as she, Olberic and Linde prepared to find them food for the night, Ophilia and her staff following them to offer holy light. "Cyrus, thou art in charge. Keepen the others safe."

Cyrus nodded as he closed his fire tome, certain that the campfire they had roaring at the moment wouldn't need any more fuel. "I'll keep a close eye on everyone."

"We are all _adults_ , you know," Therion buffed his nails on his poncho. "We don't need supervision."

"In these woods, it ist betteren to not take chances." With wary eyes, H'aanit glanced around the little clearing they'd set up camp in for the night before looking over the remaining travellers with steely resolve. "Stayest safe."

And with that, the three of them disappeared into the thick forest, who knew when they'd return.

Tressa, of course, was not scared. Not one bit. She was surrounded by friends and companions, after all.

To her left, Alfyn was preparing some of his non-medicinal herbs to season whatever game the others brought back and to her right, Professor Albright was bandaging up his hand and reading one of his tomes. Across the fire, Primrose and Therion were chatting amicably as they sharpened their daggers – not a care in the world for the perpetual darkness of the Darkwood nor the chills that the wind rustling through the leaves elicited down their spines.

Of course, Tressa wasn't scared. Not at all. She just didn't like camping in the woods.

In their time together, the travellers had always made conscious efforts to make it to the next town or village before the end of the day so that they always had a comfortable place to rest. This was the first time they didn't quite make it, so they'd found themselves camping off the side of the road in the Darkwood. The darkness and baying of the local fauna was harrowing enough, it didn't exactly help that Tressa knew their intended destination was Duskbarrow, the place where _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ was apparently hidden.

But, everyone else seemed content enough. No one else seemed scared. So, Tressa wasn't scared. Not at all. She definitely wasn't remembering every ghost story she'd been told during the course of her travels.

"You alright, Tress?" Alfyn asked out of nowhere, making her jump. "You're white as a sheet and jumpier than a hare!"

"Just a little nervous, I guess," she rubbed the goosebumps on her arms as she took her hat off and lay it on top of her nearby bag. "I've never camped before."

"You've never been camping, huh?" Therion leaned in to the conversation, the grating of his whet stone on his dagger only making Tressa nervous – which seemed to be his intention.

"It's a lot more fun with friends," Primrose also lounged back, seeming to coat the entirety of her exposed body with the warmth of the fire as she finished inspecting her dagger and slipped it into its sheath. "With more people, you can-"

"Feel more comfortable?" Tressa interrupted, talking a little faster than usual. "Like you don't have to be scared because you're surrounded by friends?"

Primrose blinked. "I was going to say share more ghost stories, but I suppose…"

"Ooh, I love ghost stories!" Alfyn interjected as he continued to sort his herbs. "I used'ta scare Zeph with them all the time back home."

"What's your favourite?" Therion asked, still sharpening his dagger.

"The Middle-Sea Ghost Ship. Y'know, the one where a ship bound from Riverlands to the Flatlands mysteriously disappears with all it's crew never to be seen again? But they say, when you can feel the icy touch of fog in the air, the ship reappears with its skeletal crew, floating aimlessly against the current. Blink, and you'll miss it."

As he spoke, Tressa refused to look at him, instead staring into their campfire and trying to convince herself that she didn't feel chills. That the story of a lost merchant ship didn't scare her at all.

Suddenly, something very cold touched her on the back of the neck, making her jump up and yelp in surprise and fear. Immediately, she blushed a bright red as the rest of the group started laughing at her. Behind her, Alfyn waved his hand which he'd coated in icy magic.

"Sorry, Tress," he apologised between chuckles as he returned his hand to normal. "That was just too easy."

The glare he received from the young merchant was colder than his hand had been.

"So, what's your favourite then, Therion?" Primrose asked from where she lounged near him.

"Oohhh, can we please not share ghost stories?" Tressa asked a little petulantly as she hugged her knees to her chest. "They're so scary."

"Sorry, Tressa, it's a camping tradition." Therion shrugged as he inspected his dagger before finally putting it away. At least he wouldn't be making that gods-awful noise anymore. But, without that noise to focus her annoyance on, Tressa suddenly started to hear all the noises of the woods anew, the braying of the Ratkin suddenly a lot closer than she liked.

"My personal favourite is the Manse of Atlasdam horror." Therion continued, turning his attention to Cyrus. "Heard of it, Professor?"

"Of course," Cyrus answered. His sudden inclusion in the exchange made Tressa jump again. In truth, she'd almost forgotten the scholar was there – he was always so silent when he was absorbed in his tomes. "Though it has piqued my intellectual curiosity for years, not once have I ever gotten up the nerve to go anywhere near the manse."

"Oh?" Alfyn grinned. "Must be pretty scary for you to believe it, Cyrus!"

"I'm a scholar, Alfyn, everything has a rational explanation, I'm certain. I'm just… not the right scholar to find the explanation for that particular mystery."

"What's the story then?" Primrose asked at the same time as Tressa muttered, "I really don't want to hear this one."

"Well," Therion started with a smirk in Tressa's direction. "There used to be a wealthy family that lived in a huge manse on the outskirts of Atlasdam. Standard snooty nobles, from what I hear – no offence, Primrose." She waved her hand dismissively and let the thief continue. "One day, they were gifted a stone idol of unknown origins with bright, ruby eyes. The Master of the house became obsessed with it to the point where he wouldn't go anywhere without it, it was always in his bag… then his pocket… and finally, he fixed it to his shoulder on a little saddle. His wife became increasingly worried about the idol – when she saw the locals she'd tell them stories about how she could've sworn it spoke to her husband during the night, that she could've sworn she heard it talk. Eventually, his wife became so worried about it talking to her husband during the night that she finally decided to take actions."

"Oh no…" Tressa muttered, a ball of scared nerves.

"One night, he fell asleep with it strapped to his shoulder as usual, and the Lady of the house decided enough was enough." Therion pulled out his dagger and twisted it in his hand casually as he continued. "She pulled out the dagger that she kept hidden in her bedside table… and went to cut the saddle that her husband had the idol constantly affixed to. But… as she brought the dagger slowly to her husband side, the idol's ruby eyes started to glow."

In the palm of his free hand, Therion started a fire, bringing it closer and closer to his face so that his eye and pale hair glowed red as he hovered his dagger over his shoulder. "Obviously, the Lady was scared. But she was also determined, determined to see the idol gone. So, instead of cutting its saddle like she planned, she brought the dagger down against the idol… Only to have her husband wake up, rip off her dagger wielding arm and stab her repeatedly with it. His eyes glowed a brighter red with each stab."

"Oh Gods…" Primrose muttered as she watched Therion make a stabbing motion with his dagger, his face still bathed in the glow of his fire.

"But his lust for blood didn't stop there." The thief continued. "In fact, he was just getting started. With the idol whispering in his ear, he took the dagger – and the arm it was attached to - into his childrens room and stabbed them to death too, spilling their blood everywhere. Still, it wasn't enough. So, he made his way to the living room, idol still lusting for blood. There, in that room, he knelt down and stabbed himself over and over, spilling his blood everywhere as the idol's eyes glowed even brighter… When the maids arrived the next day, the sight was enough to make them faint in shock. And yet, when interrogated later, they said they'd never seen an idol there that day, or any day for that matter. Not once had they seen the idol that had so consumed the Master's life like his wife said… And no one's seen it since."

With his story finished, he closed his fist and doused his fire before sheathing his dagger once again. "Not even Darius dared go near that house."

"Oh no, Therion!" Tressa screamed at him over the fire, her heart pounding out of her chest. "Why would you tell us a story like that?!"

"It's camping tradition, Tressa." Primrose told her, also looking a little worried about the story.

"Unfortunately, that's hardly the most terrifying tale of the spirits and demons…" Cyrus muttered as he continued to read his tome. It almost seemed like he hadn't been that affected by the story.

"No?" Therion asked in surprise, looking a little red in the face after his own story – only partly due to the fire. "What is then?"

"Maybe we shouldn't tell anymore," Alfyn said as he looked closely at the wide-eyed merchant. "Y'know, for Tressa's sake."

"No." She shook her head as she looked at Cyrus. "No, I have to know what's scarier than that."

"Very well," Cyrus closed his tome and slipped it into his cloak with the others. With his hands crossed in his lap, he turned to Tressa. "Ghost stories tend to come from one source, a single person's experience, or a group of peoples experience with one place like a house or ship. So, what, I ask you, is more terrifying than the exact same story being told by multiple people in multiple different places?"

"Please don't turn this into a lecture, Professor…" Tressa muttered into her knees that were clenched tightly against her chest.

"Oh, is this the plague story?" Alfyn asked in curiosity. "The one where one person in every town seemed to come down with the plague simultaneously and no one realised until years later that it was the same thing?"

"No, that had a logical explanation." Cyrus shook his head. "I'm talking about a fantastical event that's last reported to have happened as recently as two moons ago."

"The bandit-train?" Primrose asked in disbelief. "Really, Cyrus, you think that's scarier than the Atlasdam Manse horror?"

"No, I wasn't referring to the bandit-train, Primrose. That also has a reasonable explanation."

"Bandits?" Therion sarcastically quipped.

"Exactly." Cyrus took a deep breath and nodded to himself. "I'm talking about the Spirit of the Traveller."

"Oh, Professor, no!" Tressa exclaimed, burying her face in her hands. "No, I don't like this story!"

"You know it, Tressa?" Primrose asked in surprise. By the look of it, no one else here at the fire had heard of it.

"I _hate_ it!" She exclaimed, glaring at the fire. "It's the one story that made me scared to go travelling far from home."

"What is it?" Alfyn asked Cyrus in curiosity.

"Everyone has their own tale of it," he answered cryptically. "The most recent one I heard was during our visit to Noblecourt. Remember our friend Kit?"

They nodded as a collective.

"Well, the first time I met him was just outside of Atlasdam. He was terribly injured and in search of a kind soul who would offer him a Healing Grape. I thought his injuries far greater than anything in the Flatlands could produce, so much so that they were still on my mind when we met again in Noblecourt a couple of moons ago. While the rest of you were off helping Therion, I decided to have a chat with our travelling friend and find out where exactly he got those wounds."

"That's why you needed spare coin for the tavern!" Tressa realised with a start.

"Yes." Cyrus nodded, looking a little sheepish as he apologised. "Sorry I didn't tell you at the time… Anyway, after I asked Kit outright and realised I wasn't going to get an answer, I took him to the tavern and tried a different tact."

"You got the lad drunk?" Therion asked, awe colouring both his voice and features. "I'm impressed."

"Thank you? …After a few drinks, Kit's lips loosened and he told me about what had actually happened to him. And, after he did, it was safe to say we both needed a good dozen more to forget." Cyrus shuddered.

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Primrose asked, still disbelieving.

Tressa shook her head. "Prim, this is by far the most harrowing story I've ever heard. I hate it."

Cyrus nodded again. "I'd only heard whispers of this Spirit before, but to hear a tale first hand… There's no doubt that this is a true unexplainable phenomenon. …You see, the way Kit explained it to me was this: About a decade ago, his mother died from an incurable disease and shortly after his father went missing. It was a horrible ordeal that absolutely devastated his life. But, he grew and continued to learn about the world until he was a man full grown. In fact, as he grew and learnt, he came to accept that there might be no way to find his father again and that he should live his life for himself, not for his father… Until, one day, a sudden compulsion came over him."

Tressa made a whimpering noise.

"He described it like no longer being in control of himself. He said it was as though he was still him but before he undertook any action, he had to consult with some higher power. He said it was as though someone was telling a story through him and he had to do everything they said, his every action dictated by someone else."

"Like he was a doll in a child's house?" Primrose asked, enthralled and slightly scared.

"Exactly." Cyrus nodded, wrapping his cloak closer as the fire popped. "With this sudden loss of control, he found himself compelled to go on a journey to find his father. So, he left his home behind under this controlled haze and set forth for the great, big world. Apparently, at every monster he encountered, his conscious mind would shut down and he wouldn't be able to make decisions. His every move was dictated by this Spirit in his mind that compelled him to act a certain way even if he thought it was wiser to act in another. He couldn't even argue with the Spirit, he just followed its orders blindly and carried on."

"Why's it called the Spirit of the Traveller?" Therion asked in curiosity, his face almost as pale as his hair.

"Because everyone who's encountered it has suddenly wanted to travel for some reason or another. For some reason they can't control." As Cyrus paused again, the fire popped and Tressa was sure she heard a crunch in the trees behind them. Had the Spirit come for them? "Anyway, he continued under the Spirit's control until he reached the Coastlands. There, he got himself caught up in what should've been an easy encounter but the Spirit controlling him made some mistakes that he would never make. There, Kit seems to think the Spirit died, or at the very least was knocked out of him by a monster. The problem was, Kit almost died to it too."

"Hence the wounds…" Alfyn muttered to himself. As he did, Tressa swore she heard another rustle behind them.

"He managed to get as far as Atlasdam's gates on his healing provisions, which is where I found and helped him… Yet, he tells me the Spirit has not come back to him, that it has chosen another poor innocent to inhabit and make travel for their own childish amusement…"

A twig snapped behind Tressa, this time loud enough for the whole group to look up at it, scared by the tale and worried that it was a Spirit coming to take control of their every action. After a few rustling moments, a figure appeared between the trees bathed in a faint white glow.

Tressa screamed and Therion instinctively threw his dagger at it as Cyrus pulled out his fire tome. "Stay back, Spirit!"

There was a low growl from the spirity figure as Cyrus' tome set alight. Still, it came closer. Primrose threw her dagger at it next as Alfyn stood protectively in front of Tressa. There was a scream as the dagger hit the Spirit, an awfully low and familiar scream followed by a high-pitched yelp.

" _Olberic!_ "

"Who darest throwen daggers at my comrade?!" A patch of the Spirit stepped into the light of their bonfire and narrowly missed Cyrus' fireball.

"H'aanit?!" Tressa scream/yelped in fear and relief as the giant huntress appeared before them, Therion's dagger in one hand and her axe in the other – Linde baring her fangs by her side.

"What possessed you throw a dagger at me?!" Olberic asked as he and Ophilia came into the fire light and the white light was revealed to be Ophilia's staff. Primrose's dagger was clearly embedded in his shoulder, narrowly missing the large elk he had hung over it for their dinner.

"Olberic!" Primrose rushed up to him with Alfyn, ready to treat his wound. "I'm so sorry! We… We were telling ghost stories and we all got a little scared and worked up…"

"You were telling ghost stories with Tressa present?!" Ophilia exclaimed in anger. "Do you have any idea how irresponsible that is?!"

The situation devolved into shouting and screaming at each other from there as they made dinner before it became jolly laughs as they all realised how stupid they'd been acting. As Tressa realised that ghost stories are just that – stories – and that she would always have people to rely and count on when she needed protection from fake spirits.

…

Cyrus on the other hand, sat to the side and returned to his tome: a dairy that Kit had given him that night in Noblecourt. In it, were all the stories of the people the Spirit possessed, each written in exactly the same way with no way to distinguish people between them other than names and dates.

With a quill held tight in his bandaged grip as his travelling friends conversed, he wrote everything that had transpired that day in his section of the book.

The Spirit of the Traveller took over his facilities long enough to 'save' a log of what had happened before it thought about which of the eight's journeys it would tackle next…


	17. A Spectacle in the Stars

_A much longer than usual Bonfire Night special!_

 _For those of you not from the UK (which is probably most of you) Bonfire Night is basically our firework night - we get together around massive bonfires and watch huge firework displays. The basis of the night is all political and - in my opinion - nothing to celebrate, but for me it's always been a feel-good night with all my friends and family; so that's what I've tried to get across here, a pure and happy story with every character that I could remember. I hope you enjoy it!_

 _(Oh, and thank you for over 5500 views! That's absolutely insane and I cannot thank any of you enough for your continued reading!)_

* * *

 _Surrounded by new friends and familiar faces, Olberic revives an old tradition from his former Kingdom - Hornburg's Bonfire Night. Set post Gates of Finis with as many characters as I could think of (there's a few missing), so there's bound to be a few small spoilers here and there, but none of them are the focus or major._

* * *

A Spectacle in the Stars

"Bonfires? Fireworks? …Is it bad that I've never heard of them?" Tressa asked anyone who was listening in general confusion.

"I'd have been more surprised if you had, Tressa!" Cyrus grinned, his face aglow with the fire burning gently in his hand as he worked his spells. "This is a very old tradition after all! I'd honestly thought it long forgotten."

"Not quite," Olberic continued to arrange the logs into a traditional bonfire shape with the help of Ned, both of them under the watchful eye of Cecily. "For as long as I continue to draw breath, I shall strive to keep this age-old tradition alive."

"Let's hope you don't get into anymore mortal vs. God scuffles then!" Cecily laughed. "I think I might like how this turns out and it'd be a shame for it to be a one off."

"'Specially with how much yer charging fer tickets…" Muttered Ned, stretching his still-healing wound carefully as he laid the last of his logs.

"It's not like I'm actually making that much!" Cecily pouted, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance. "Most of the people here are friends and family, so they've all come to watch for free."

"You can't put a price on the visual education of old traditions!" Cyrus shouted over at them as he continued to work his fiery magic.

Olberic smiled as he finished piling his giant logs, giving the structure a good look over to make sure there were no obvious gaps. It had been a long time since he let himself experience such simple, boyhood joy that he was almost certain he'd forgotten how. Yet, as he started setting everything up earlier that morning, he realised just how well ingrained into his memory this tradition had been.

It was a simple celebration, one that honoured the coronation of the first King of Hornburg. Though the story itself was riddled with horror, treason and violence, the celebration that had come out of it had become something simple and honest – a celebration of a Kingdom that had managed to survive and thrive after everything that had come before.

And what better time to pick up this tradition again than shortly after the Kingdom had been avenged?

Hornburg as a Kingdom might've been long gone now, but it continued to live on in the hearts of all who knew it. And Olberic would be damned if he let its customs die with him.

So, he was holding a traditional Bonfire Night with very little idea of how it actually worked and the simple can-do and desperately-want-to-help attitudes of his dear travelling companions and friends. It hadn't taken much more than an off-hand comment to Cyrus about the tradition to get him on board and the first mention of the traditional fireworks had peaked Alfyn and Therion's creative curiosity. Tressa had come on board shortly after realising how much profit could be made and Ophilia and H'aanit had been so swept up in the idea of the shining, man-made stars that they'd joined in the preparations with a sort of trepidatious curiosity. Primrose had been more on the fence about the whole thing, but she wasn't one to decline an invitation to celebrate with friends when it was presented to her.

Then came all of their other friends, family and various allies they'd made along their journeys.

Kit had been the first to ask to join since he'd been with them when they were leaving former Hornburg, where Olberic had first mentioned the celebration. Then came Captain Leon and his merry band of sailors who were always on the look out for something new to experience and celebrate. Ali soon caught wind of the profit that could be made and brought Noa along with him so that this night could be the first she wrote about in her new diary. Noa had written to Cordelia, so soon she and Heathcote were making the journey to her ancestral homeland. They passed through Clearbrook on the way and told Zeph and Nina what was happening, so then they joined the party with Nina's friend Lily and Zeph's ' _friend_ ' Mercedes. Mercedes wrote to the Academy in Atlasdam to let them know she'd be taking an extended leave which alerted both Therese and Princess Mary to the situation, so obviously they both tagged along to see their favourite Professor…

Olberic couldn't exactly remember how word had gotten out to the rest of them, but here they all were, ready and waiting to experience what was being advertised as the biggest, brightest festival in Orsterra's history. A celebration of things they couldn't hope to understand in the lost Kingdom that housed the literal Gates of Hell.

All around him, Olberic saw only friends and allies, smiles and laughter in a region that had for so long been a place of death and decay. Truly, festivals and celebrations could bring people together like nothing else in this world.

Ophilia, Liana and Alaic were closely watching H'aanit bake with her Master, Hägen and Linde asleep together next to the baking fire. Lady Eliza stood nearby, chatting amicably with Natalia as her new maid and coachman reminisced on the customs of House Azelhart with its daughter. Derryl, Emil, Nate and Phillip were happily engaged in a game of tag with Lily, Nina, Lysa, Ellen and Flynn; all of them clearly underfoot as the adults worked, though they just as clearly having too much fun to stop. Bishops Donovan and Bartolo, despite being men of the cloth, were engaging in a toast to the late Bishop Josef with Captain Bale using a fine wine that Master Wyndham had likely spent a small fortune on (Olberic still thought High Hornburgian wine was better, not that he had any on him to prove it).

Noa and Cordelia sat to the side blushing and watching as Therion, Alfyn, Ali, Zeph and Ogen all argued about how to make fireworks. Behind them, Vanessa, Heathcote and Susanna all had various looks of disapproval on their faces, all knowing a correct way of making fireworks but none wanting to break up the arguments. Captain Leon and Kit were chatting up a storm over one of Leon's antiques, the two bonding and trusting one another as quickly as Leon had Graham.

Instead of lighting the fire like a normal person would've by this point, Cyrus was lecturing his two students on the history of the celebration; even Tressa and Mercedes appeared to be listening to him, but upon closer observation it seemed like they were actually only watching and pitying Therese. Having laid out the bonfire logs, Cecily and Ned had retreated to sit by the side of the cliff with Reggie and Harald, whom were both understandably a little afraid of the fire.

Everyone was there and ready to start the celebrations – when Cyrus got around to lighting the bonfire, that is – yet there was still someone missing. Someone who had been by Olberic's side for many of these festivals in his twenties. Someone who had, only recently, walked back into Olberic's life ready and waiting to pick up their partnership and comradery where they had left off.

So where was he tonight? Where was Erhardt?

Olberic had kept half a watchful eye out for him all day, waiting and hoping to see him walk up that mountainous path like he had all those years ago, bottle of Hornburgian White under his arm. Instead, he only watched the sun move from the left to the right before switching places with the moon, who was now beginning her graceful watch of the stars. Instead, he got to watch everyone else arrive, his hope of seeing Erhardt slipping deeper and deeper until Bale had appeared.

"Captain Bale!" Olberic had greeted him boisterously, clapping a giant hand on his back in hello. The sun had already started to fall behind the cliffs at that point, half the bonfire had already been laid out. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it on time!"

"So was I, Sir Olberic," Bale had laughed with the knight, shaking the sand from his clothes. "It's sandstorm season down south. Had I been waylaid even half an hour, I would've been too caught up in sand to make it much further than the Northern Wellspring Pass."

Frustrated worry had set roots in the warrior's heart at that statement. "Yet you still managed to make it all this way alone?"

"Honestly, Sir Olberic, had it not been for Sir Erhardt I wouldn't have made it out of Wellspring." Captain Bale had laughed again. "He was so desperate to see you bring back the old celebration that he wouldn't heed my advice to wait the storm out!"

"Sounds like he made the right call."

"That he did. He's a good man, Sir Erhardt. He refused to come any further until he could be sure Sunshade had the necessary protections in place."

"Is he still there?" Olberic'd asked, a pit beginning to form in his stomach.

"As far as I know." Bale'd waved to Donovan around the knight, surprised yet so excited to see his friend. So much so that he'd finished his conversation with the host there and then. "Would you excuse me, Sir Olberic?"

And with that, Olberic's hopes of enjoying Hornburg's forgotten celebration with its other knight had died. Sure, he still had all his other friends to celebrate with, but it wasn't quite the same. None of them knew the splendour of previous bonfire nights.

None of them would appreciate just how much effort Olberic had put in to get it as close to the ones his Majesty had held as possible.

But, he swallowed his prideful sorrow and accepted that Erhardt was too busy off being noble and helpful to others to come and watch a practically dead tradition. To watch a celebration like many others he'd seen as a child and young adult.

"Cyrus!" He called the scholar; he'd kept his friends and allies waiting long enough. Though midnight was still a few hours away, the moon rose quick and bright up in the cliffs and the air was already too cold to let his friends keep standing without the fire for warmth. "Are you ready to light the bonfire?"

"But of course!" Cyrus called back, immediately breaking away from his students and the tired children who'd been listening to his impromptu lecture to stand next to the arranged mass of logs. "Just say the word, my friend."

Olberic nodded and turned his attention to the still arguing thief and apothecary, "Therion! Alfyn! Are the fireworks ready?"

The two stopped shouting at each other and shared a glance before turning to the other two apothecaries and Ali. Collectively, they all shrugged.

"Probably." Therion pulled on his scarf.

"…Good enough." Olberic sighed under his breath as he made his way to the bonfire. They'd arranged it right next to the King's former pavilion and the spot still caused him some pain. This had been the spot where it had all happened, the place where he'd lost his King, kingdom and closest friend to Lyblac and Werner's villainy. This had been the spot of his nightmares.

Tonight, it was the spot where his fondest memories would be reilluminated.

Gods, why wasn't Erhardt there to watch?

"My friends!" Olberic called, his bellowing voice even louder as it echoed off the mountains. It didn't take very long for everyone to turn to face him. With a deep breath, he started his speech.

"You all have my fondest thanks in coming to celebrate with me this night. As some of you might know, we will be observing an old tradition, Hornburg's Bonfire night. Before, we used to celebrate that our kingdom had lived on in the face of unspeakable horror and tragedy. Today, we celebrate that it has been avenged. …Yes, my former kingdom might never again be my home or the place it once was… However, tonight, I ask you to honour it with me."

Olberic took the ceremonial Darkwood wine from H'aanit, disappointed that he didn't have the same way with words that his King had had. He was no poet nor storyteller, he was a knight to whom words did not come easy. But Gods be damned if he wasn't going to launch the celebrations as best he could!

Raising his bottle, everyone else followed suit with their bottles and glasses. "I, Sir Olberic Eisenberg, offer this wine unto thee, Brand the Thunderbladed!" Olberic roared to the heavens, asking for the blessing of his God on this night. "I ask thee to bless this night with thy warmth as I cast this wine into thy fire!"

Olberic exchanged a glance with Cyrus to make sure he was ready before throwing the bottle into the centre of the fire. Immediately afterwards, Cyrus threw one of his fireballs into the mass of logs, lighting an inferno of magic and alcohol.

The crowd gasped in surprise as the flames spiralled up into the air before settling down into a stately blaze, well contained in its log surrounded pit. They gasped, they oohed, they ahhed, they cheered… And they hadn't even seen the fireworks yet.

Smiling to himself as the heat of the fire immediately warmed the air, Olberic turned his attention to the apothecaries, thief and merchant at the far firework table. "Let us set the sky alight!"

"R-right!" Alfyn stuttered, turning to light the fireworks and set the celebrations off right.

Only… They didn't work.

With a hiss and crackle, the table that the five men had laboured over all day fizzled out into a vaguely apothecarial dust and ash that wouldn't know how to be lit even if Cyrus tried. It certainly wouldn't be producing any man-made stars.

"Uhmmm…" Zeph hummed in embarrassment as Susanna started to cackle. "Ali, did you-"

"Woah, woah, Medicine man!" Ali turned on him immediately. "Don't you _dare_ go suggesting that that was _my_ fault!"

"Well, it certainly wasn't his…" Therion muttered into his scarf.

"You would know." Ogen glared at the lot of them, somewhat akin to an angry dad.

"Hey now, let's not go blamin' people!" Alfyn tried to mediate, well aware that all eyes were on them and their mistake as Susanna continued to laugh. "Maybe I mixed the powders wrong!"

"I'm not letting you take the blame for this, Alf!" Zeph was suddenly heated, red in the face with embarrassment. "It was clearly-"

"Oh, for Gods' sake." Primrose sighed and flopped down from her place atop one of the nearby boulders with Arianna and Oren. Sauntering into the clearing just before Olberic, she put on a deliberately sultry pout before turning to the warrior. "Copy this beat and I'll show you _real_ fireworks."

A little stunned and but more than eager to get this night back on the right track, Olberic copied his friend as she stamped. Then clapped. Then stamped twice. And clapped again.

Boom. Clap. Boom, boom. Clap.

He repeated it with her five times as the rest of the crowd joined in, drowning out the arguing men.

On the sixth repeat, Primrose started to strut. Her feet came down on every boom, moved delicately and intricately with every clap. Soon, she had everyone's attention, her hands spirally delicately above her head.

Then the magic happened.

At the boom, she flicked her fingers to the sky, a dark purple magic flying straight up from them. On her clap, it exploded into a spirally circle of darkness, dark stars on an even darker sky. The crowded gasped as they watched her stamp her feet twice, letting out two more streams of purple light that exploded into a thousand dark stars at her clap.

It was magic, literal magic. Dark and refined, somewhat like Primrose herself.

And that was only the opening act.

She danced to a different beat when her feet started moving again.

With five consecutive challenging struts, Primrose launched five consecutive streams of magic straight into the sky. There was a two beat pause as the five of them went off in a thousand tiny sparks before she set off the next one in a sharp, spiky movement. It continued to rise straight into the sky as she spun up three more quickly and a fourth in a long, intricate pirouette. They all burst at the same time in and hung in such a beautiful suspended animation that could only be described as pure dance genius.

But she wasn't done.

With two more languid struts, she thrust two more magical fireworks into the air that burst into literal five pointed stars and hung there for a solid five beats before breaking into a thousand tiny ashes.

With that, she started back on her boom, clap, boom boom, clap dance and launched those magical fireworks again, a clear smile on her features that told all who watched she was having the time of her life. That she was dancing for herself, not at the request of others.

Laughing as she started back on her five strut dance, everyone was either watching the magic Primrose was making or the way she moved her feet; no one was paying attention to how the firework table hadn't worked, least of all the five men who were to blame. Everyone watched Primrose Azelhart dance to a beat wholly her own, as she fell back into the boom clap again.

"Holy Sisters, if you'd please step up to the fire!" She called to Ophilia and Liana, both of whom jumped in surprise. Exchanging only one glance, the two girls made their way to the dancer, certain they couldn't perform like she could.

The crowd was once again measuring the stamps and claps and Olberic could only watch on in ever growing interest. Just when everything had started going wrong, his friend had been there to bail him out and make something amazing out of a bad situation. … Just like someone else he knew.

"My dark stars are all well and good, but I think we need a little light." Primrose said to the clerics as she danced in place, seeming to be showing them how to move to the beat she'd created. "Wanna make some magic with me?"

Dumbfounded and blushing, the sisters nodded and started following her every slow move as the crowd watched on. Before long, all three were dancing in perfect synchronicity; a formerly sultry Sunland's strut now more like a Frostland ballet as the three girls performed long pirouettes and lazy stretches.

Then the magic started to happen.

On the pirouettes, the girls would spin spirals of pure darkness and light into the sky, and with each stretch they'd burst into a thousand tiny, flame-like sparkles, intermingling and shining like the man-made stars they were. Everyone was so busy oohing and ahhing (Olberic included) that they didn't notice the new figure arriving at the back of the crowd, watching the display with a rare smile.

"H'aanit!" Primrose called the hunters next. "Z'aanta! It's time to bring the thunder!"

"Not I, m'lady!" Z'aanta laughed, raising his hands in a sort of surrendering motion as he turned to the younger man next to the nervous huntress. "Thou, Alaic, haven experience with lightening magic, nay?"

Alaic said nothing, so Susanna answered for him. "That he does, Z'aanta!"

Neither H'aanit nor Alaic moved, too rooted to their spots to know how. Susanna cleared her throat and gave them a little shove in the direction of the dancing. "Well, go on then! Don't keep us waiting!"

Primrose slowed her dance and signalled to the clerics to carry on with theirs as she showed the hunters what she wanted them to do. It would have made for painful viewing if the clerics weren't still lighting up the sky with their holy magic. Neither of the new dancers were particularly rhythmic, though Olberic had to admit that they were both far better than he was.

Eventually, H'aanit and Alaic got the hang of the very old-fashioned dance. To start with they would perform a spin by themselves that would leave them facing one another and the air charged with their magical lighting. They would then approach with their right hand held expectantly out for the other to clasp in their grip – this would send the conjoined lighting magic straight up into the air. Finally, they would spin around one another with their hands still joined in a surprisingly slow and delicate display that would end with them facing one another once again, ready to let go of each other's hands – likely with rather impressive red cheeks that were only a little to do with being so close to the fire.

And as they let go of each other's hands, the lighting birds would appear in the sky. Beautiful, ancient lightning magic that looked like the long-lost Thunderbird lit up the sky so bright that one could almost miss the act of the two birds spinning together ever higher in the sky before they burst into ashes with an almighty crack of thunder.

The audience started to whoop, Susanna was once again laughing in pure joy as her protector and 'granddaughter' started their dance again. All the while, Ophilia and Liana were still dancing a beautiful ballet and Primrose had gone back to her dark struts. The night sky was alight with purple, yellow and white sparkles, the moon and stars themselves seeming to dull their own light to make the spectacle even brighter.

Olberic was almost too engrossed in the display that he missed the tap on his shoulder. He almost missed the smile on the face of an age-old friend.

"Apothecaries!" Primrose called next, turning her attention to the three men watching the display with unashamed envy, considering their failure was the reason they were performing. "Step up with your ice!"

With great hesitation, the three men stepped forth as the light and lightning continued to light up the sky and Primrose started to Riverdance.

"Yeah, I can't do that, Primrose…" Alfyn rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he watched Primrose flick her feet in and out of one another with a grace and speed he couldn't hope to match.

"No?" Ogen asked, already dancing along with Primrose, his feet moving at least as fast as hers. Somehow, the old apothecary knew how to perform a perfect Riverdance. "What a shame."

"You're on, old man!" Alfyn shouted, watching Primrose's feet carefully as she slowed the dance down enough for him and Zeph to copy.

Soon, all three of them were moving with the same grace and elegance as Primrose and a beautiful Riverdance was being performed by three men. Each time their feet hit the floor a shot of ice would stream straight up into the air and each time they tapped their toes gently against the ground it would burst into a snowflake of blue light.

All four magics and dances continued to delight the crowd as they cheered after each thunderclap and synchronised bursting of the magical fireworks.

Meanwhile, Olberic allowed himself to be pulled off to the side by a face he'd been sure he wouldn't see tonight. A smiling face framed by blond hair as the man in red pulled a surprise bottle of Hornburgian white from his bag.

"Where did you get that?!" Olberic called over the Thunderbird at the same time as Primrose shouted for Tressa, Ali, Noa and Leon.

"Wind magic isn't great for this kind of display, Primrose!" Tressa shouted at her over the cheering of the crowd. It was getting loud now, louder than any of them had expected. The air was alive with everyone excitement and expectations and Tressa wasn't sure she'd be able to match up to them.

"You know how to jig, don't you, Captain?" Primrose asked Leon, completely ignoring Tressa's concern.

"Of course, Lass!" He said, extending his arm. "Shall we show them how it's done?"

So Primrose and Leon showed the other three how to dance a traditional jig before setting the three merchants and Noa off to do it themselves.

Not unlike Alaic's and H'aanit's dance, the jig started with the two ladies facing the two men before approaching them – it was during this part that their wind magic was charged. The ladies would then link arms with the men and be spun around which would launch their wind magic into the air. Then, the two girls would be transferred to the arm of the other man in a delicate spin that would allow the wind magic in the air to flip the fireworks in the sky the other way around as their sparkling ashes were held in place. Finally, the arms would become unlinked, the dancers would spin and the whole thing would start again. As soon as the arms were unlinked, the wind would completely disappear from the air, making all of the multicoloured ash fall like magical, starry rain on the crowd below.

They oohed, ahhed and cheered as they watched the seemingly endless dance go on.

"You did well, Olberic!" Erhardt shouted at him over the crowd, handing him the bottle of wine they were sharing. Not once since he'd arrived had his smile left his face. "A little untraditional, perhaps, but certainly impressive!"

"Thank you, Erhardt!" Olberic shouted back to him – the atmosphere on that cliff was electric, so loud that even shoulder to shoulder the men had to shout. "To hear those words from you means more than if I were hearing them from anyone else gathered here tonight! And to think you almost didn't make it!"

The warriors laughed together as Primrose called the last of the travellers into the dance. "Therion, Cyrus! It takes two to tango!"

"So it does…" Therion muttered to himself before approaching Cordelia with an outstretched arm and bright red face. "Cordelia?"

The young girl was simply besides herself in excitement as she took his arm, completely missing Heathcote's joking "Have her home by midnight!"

Meanwhile, Therese was buzzing at the prospect of her favourite Professor asking her to dance. Instead, she got to watch him awkwardly look around in a circle in confusion. "Am I to dance with you, Milady?"

Primrose rolled her eyes and threw the student into the Professor's arm. "Dance with her, you dunce."

She then approached the slightly lonesome looking Kit and asked him to take her arm, using him to show the others how to perform a rather simple, sharp tango. Rather than making fireworks with this dance, with each sharp step, the bonfire would either burn hotter and brighter or simmer into a smouldering little flame ready to be reignited by the passion of the dance.

Primrose and Kit continued to tango, a more intense, foreign tango that Primrose used to make her darkened fireworks even more intense and sharp. Liana and Ophilia continued performing light and delicate ballet as Alaic and H'aanit continued their stately box dance, Thunderbirds cawing above them as loud as the lightning that birthed it. Ogen, Zeph and Alfyn's quick, icy Riverdance continued to be the stuff of beauty as the merchant's slow jig continued to create that magical rain. And the boy's tango was as sharp and deadly as Therion's daggers, bringing a bright blush to all of their cheeks that had nothing to do with the nearby bonfire.

Olberic watched on in envious delight. "Do you ever regret not learning the art of sorcery, Erhardt?"

"Only at times like this, Olberic." The blond answered honestly. "I've never seen much use for it in battle."

"Nor I. But, at times like this… It _is_ rather spectacular."

The dancers finished their performance with a resounding clap of magic and ash, the bonfire roaring up into a veritable inferno that drowned out every star and moon before simmering back down into its regular bubbling blaze. For a moment, the whole world seemed to fall silent.

Then came the cheers. The howls of delight and enthusiasm that would never have been so loud if the fireworks had actually worked. The atmosphere itself seemed to feel the joy and electricity of the night, everyone was as abuzz with magic.

It was, familiar. Though none had never been like this, this Bonfire Night left the same tingling down Olberic's spine as all the others had, that same electric joy that seemed to flow between his every vein and fibre that he hadn't felt in nearly a decade.

A sideways glance at Erhardt told him the blond felt the same. Hells, he seemed a little breathless – no doubt partly due to the altitude and the fact that he'd spent his entire day helping people.

With a look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face, Erhardt turned to his fellow knight and brother in arms. "You did good, Olberic."

For the first time that night, Olberic believed him. Were he still alive, King Alfred would've loved this celebration, would have seen through its flaws to the hearts of everyone dancing and known: These were all good people who had fought for what they believed in and come out the other side alive and happy.

Hornburg might've been dead and gone, but its traditions and magic would live on forever in the hearts and minds of everyone here tonight.


	18. Heels

_After Therion is dubbed 'Small Boy' he does everything in his power to give that title to someone else. And Cyrus looks awfully short without his heels on... No spoilers!_

* * *

Heels

Tressa was still at that age where she thought that people's height was a major indication of how important and impressive they were. Conversely, she was also at the age where she thought that shorter people were less impressive and an easy target for her to tease. As such, after she'd been travelling with the others in the group for a good month or so, she started to judge them based on how tall they were.

Olberic – being a good half a head taller than even the next tallest of their group – commanded the most respect for his height and was dubbed the giant of the group. Alfyn, the next tallest of the lot, was dubbed Tall Boy and H'aanit, the tallest of the women by quite a margin, was dubbed Tall Girl. Ophilia and Primrose – being about average female height – were given no nicknames along with Cyrus - who had also been dubbed an average height.

And then there was Therion, the literal short straw.

It didn't matter how much he protested and pointed out that being on the shorter side was actually beneficial for his trade; it didn't matter how much he tried to remind Tressa that she was the youngest and shortest of the lot; it didn't even matter that he pointed out people in their travels shorter than he was. No matter what he said or did to protest being called 'Small Boy' the name stuck and soon even Olberic was calling him it jovially.

Which meant that Cyrus had to do everything in his power to avoid being seen without his heels on as he travelled with the group.

In truth, he was still about average height without them on, certainly still taller than Therion and the three younger girls at least. But he was also the second oldest of the lot and Tressa seemed to think that age and height were interlinked – he was already on thin ice because Alfyn was taller than him.

So, whenever they'd retire to the inn at night, Cyrus made sure that he kept his shoes on as long as possible. He couldn't let Tressa find out; he couldn't let himself be subject to the same kind of teasing Therion was.

Eventually, the dreaded day came.

They collectively decided to have a day to themselves, a day to go about their own business before picking up again tomorrow. To Cyrus, this was a day alone with his tomes in the men's inn room, pot of tea by his side and quill in hand.

It began as any other day. The four men woke and joined the ladies for breakfast to discuss what they were going to do before going about their business. Olberic and H'aanit had plans to spar together again while Primrose took a turn around town with Tressa to sus out the latest trends and bargains; meanwhile, Alfyn was making plans to forage for medicinal herbs in the local fields with Ophilia while Therion was silently deciding who he was going to loot. All this meant that Cyrus would definitely have the room to himself for his quiet study.

All this meant that Cyrus could sit alone in the room without his uncomfortable heels on.

And so he had. With a teapot on one side of his tome and inkwell on the other, Cyrus settled in for a comfortable day of study in just his socks – though he had his heels close by just in case. For the morning, all was comfortable and well.

Then came the afternoon and an incredibly flustered Therion.

He pulled the door open so suddenly that Cyrus jumped in his seat, roused from his study by its sudden slamming as Therion shiftily looked around for a place to stash the bundle of cloth he was holding.

In truth, Cyrus really paid little attention to what Therion was doing with his stolen goods, instead turning his attention back to his tome with the assumption that the thief would be leaving again soon. Instead, Therion stuck around, seeming to be letting the dust settle on his most recent heist. Still, Cyrus ignored him – he was being quiet and not bothering him, after all.

That was, until he asked, "What the hell are you wearing on your feet?"

Internally, Cyrus panicked. But he calmly replied, "Are you referring to my socks?"

Therion's eyes narrowed. "I've never seen you without your shoes on before."

"Of course not," Cyrus nodded as he began to slip them on. "We spend most of our time walking around Orsterra after all. 'Twould be foolish for me to do that without shoes on, now wouldn't it?"

"You're hiding something."

"I very much doubt that, Therion. My life has always been an open book."

"You're short."

"Beg pardon?" Cyrus asked, dread seeping into every pore of his being. If the little thief told Tressa…

"You're short, aren't you?" Therion grinned a little wickedly. "You wear your heels all the time so that Tressa doesn't find out and start calling you Small Boy too."

"To what exactly are you referring, Therion?" Cyrus asked, still playing dumb. In another life, this thief would've made a remarkably intuitive scholar.

Therion paused for a moment before yanking the scholar from his chair and dragging him out the room.

"Therion! What in the Gods names are you-?" Cyrus shouted at him as he was dragged to the communal room.

It was getting on towards suppertime, so the rest of their travelling group were already gathered in the room chatting amicably together as Therion burst in, dragging Cyrus behind him.

"Gentlemen." Primrose nodded to them as they entered the room.

"Cyrus has an announcement." Therion said shortly in reply, his breath short and smile slightly giddy.

"I truly don't." Cyrus shook his head, trying to free his wrist from Therion's vice grip.

"Therion, you really shouldn't drag people outa the closet, y'know?" Alfyn chuckled with H'aanit.

"Although, I do stand to maken a fair amount of leaves if thou doest comen out, Professor." Even Linde seemed to chuckle with her as Cyrus raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"No, not that," Therion shook his head, practically beaming. "Cyrus is short."

"I'm truly not." Cyrus denied at the same time as Tressa burst out laughing.

"No, he's not, Small Boy!" She continued to laugh.

"Have you ever seen him without heels on?" Therion persisted.

"Well, no…"

"Even if you did, dear Tressa," Cyrus interrupted before she could concede to the thief. "Do you really think I'd be below average height? I certainly wouldn't be shorter than Small Boy, now would I?"

Olberic nodded. "In truth, I have not seen you without those shoes of yours on, Professor. However, I doubt you would be any shorter than Therion."

"But-" Therion started for Tressa to interrupt. "You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel for excuses now, Small Boy."

"But-" Therion started again, this time cut short by Ophilia tsking in disappointment. "Seriously, Therion, you mustn't attempt to belittle others to make yourself look big."

"But- But-" The thief stammered before turning to Cyrus. "Take your shoes off!"

"In the communal room?" Cyrus protested. "Come now, Small Boy, no one wants that."

"You are short and I will prove it!" Therion shouted at the scholar, trying to get all up in his face with his accusations, but alas, he was a little too short…

"If you insist, little thief," Cyrus patted him on the head before taking a seat next to Primrose. "Do we know what's on the menu tonight yet, my dear?"

"Mutton, I believe."

"Are we really dropping this so quickly?!" Therion half shouted in anger and exasperation.

"Well, I mean, it's currently just your word against his, Therion. So…" Tressa shrugged. "Why don't you sit down and wait with us?"

Grumbling a little to himself, Therion sat down next to Tressa opposite the scholar. As he did, Cyrus gave him a smug little smile, certain no one else would see it. When it came down to one's words against another's, the scholar would always win against the thief.

So, he lived to see another day free of height teasing, ever more uncertain of how long he and his heels could hold out…


	19. Knights of a Lost Kingdom

_Once upon a time, Hornburg was protected under a red and blue banner... Set Post Game, so, spoilers!_

* * *

Knights of a Lost Kingdom

Olberic's feet dragged like lead every step he took as he guided his group of travelling companions back to the place where his journey had begun. For eight years this place had haunted his dreams, his nightmares, but not once had he thought of returning.

Now he had no choice. Now he had to face his demons for the greater good. Now he had to face his demons or let Lyblac have her way with Kit in the ruins of his former Kingdom.

With every heavy step he took, he thought of what Werner had said in his last moments and how it fit into what had happened to his friends and fellow travellers. With every step he took, he got closer to his home and the Gate of Finis, the gate that blocked Galdera from this world.

It was a journey Olberic never thought he'd make again. A path littered with ghosts of former comrades in arms and graves marked only by their weapons; it was a path that even the monsters feared to tread as King Alfred's broken banners continued to flutter in the Highland breeze.

And yet, Olberic lead the way with his head held high, hand on the blade at his side. Despite having known him for many months now, his fellow travellers would likely notice nothing different in his demeanour – they certainly wouldn't see the hesitancy in his steps nor the slight bow of his head – but his old partner would.

That is, Erhardt _would_ have noticed Olberic's hesitancy if he hadn't been so deeply marred by his own sorrow and regrets that his head was bowed so low that he all he saw were his own feet.

Primrose had asked him to join them on the way to their journey's end at Olberic's request and he'd agreed somewhat hesitantly, as eager as Olberic was to put his ghosts to rest but twice as nervous about returning to Hornburg.

But here they were, at the foot of the mountainous trail where Hornburg's last stand had taken place.

The two knights stopped there, looking up at the littered swords and scattered graves; the ripped banners and broken shields. They took shallow breaths as they exchanged a glance, both of them knowing they'd never thought of returning to this place, certainly not with one another.

The last time they'd walked this path together they'd been friends, brothers in arms, partners… The last time they'd walked this path alone they'd been enemies, traitors, purposeless…

"Sir Olberic?" Tressa called from the back of their party, curious at why they'd stopped and the only one bold enough to voice her curiosity.

"This way." He said bluntly, bowing his head a little in regret and pain as he lead the way up the path, Erhardt close behind.

Before they knew it, they were at the King's pavilion, the place where they'd duelled all those years ago. Olberic came to a stop again, memories of a time he wanted to forget filling his mind as he saw the camp, the vultures circling overhead. Erhardt stopped besides him, his head bowed low and hair whipping in the wind.

The two knights stood there for a moment, holding the rest of the group up in their silent melancholy.

"Follow the path down the mountain and wait for us at the bottom." Olberic said after a long moment of silence. "I need speak to Erhardt alone."

The travellers knew better than to argue with the knight when he commanded them in such a tone and began the trek down the other side of the mountain as the two men stood in silence a while longer.

Finally, once he was sure they were alone, Erhardt cleared his throat, "What happened to his Majesty's body?"

"By the time I woke, it had already been looted for all its worth," Olberic answered. Neither man looked at one another, they were both staring off into the horizon, wondering once again whether a fall from this height would send them off quickly. "I buried him with the others."

"…He would have liked that, being buried with his people that is."

"Perhaps." Olberic shrugged. "It was the best I could do at the time to make sure his body wasn't scavenged anymore."

Erhardt looked up at his fellow knight for a moment, seeming to want to say something before bowing his head once again and groaning.

"Say your piece, Erhardt." Olberic prompted, knowing him well enough to know what his silence meant.

After another moments hesitation, Erhardt finally spoke, "I'm sorry to have left the cleaning up to you."

"There's certainly no fun to be had in burying your former friends and comrades," Olberic nodded to himself, seeing them all in his memories once again. "They deserved a burial and funeral far greater than what I gave them. Keeping them from the scavengers and bandits was the least I could do."

Erhardt nodded solemnly as silence befell them yet again.

Quite suddenly, laughter filled the air, a quiet chuckle at first before building into a loud fit of giggles. Erhardt watched his partner in mild horror. "Olberic?"

"Gods, I should've bested you that day!" He laughed. "I've bested friends and enemies alike with this blade and the one time it counted…"

Olberic continued to laugh as Erhardt looked at him apprehensively. "You're not about to challenge me to a duel again, are you, Olberic?"

"Nay." He shook his head, still chuckling. "No, I no longer hold any hatred for you."

"Good to know," Erhardt nodded, still nervously watching his larger friend.

"I cannot forgive you, though. Nor can I forgive myself." Olberic stared off into the distance, a wondering, wistful look in his eye that Erhardt hadn't seen in nearly a decade. "And yet, I cannot bring myself to resent it, the years I spent as a lost, purposeless travelling sword. The years I've spent in the town that I now call home, training their soldiers to protect themselves from bandits that _you_ had a hand in training… They are as important to me as those we spent together, fighting under King Alfred's banner."

"They taught you what it really meant to be lost with seemingly nothing to fight for," Erhardt interjected, staring off into the distance himself now, a sorrowful wistfulness on his own features. "They taught you the value of having something to protect, a reason to still carry your blade."

"Aye." Olberic nodded, once again feeling connected to his brother in arms, his partner.

For a moment, all was silent and still. The breeze seemed to blow their regrets and anger into the backs of their memories, replacing them with feelings of hope and new-found purpose. Replacing the image of their bloody former home with happier ones of their new home towns, the places they now protected.

They'd been prestigious knights, once upon a time; the red right hand of the crown and the blue left. They'd been warriors, fighting under Brand's guidance and Hornburg's flag.

Nowadays, they were men worth only as much as their sword arm and blade at the end of it.

Olberic turned to Erhardt and held out his right hand. "Let us make a vow, Erhardt."

"Oh, aye?" Erhardt turned to face him, arms crossed.

"We never know when we might need to be called to battle again. There are hundreds of little threats out there in this world that may, one day, build to something as dramatic and cataclysmic as the fall of our kingdom or the unbinding of the Dark God. What say you we make a promise to stand as our two blades when those threats arise?"

Erhardt extended his left hand with a grin. "Should I ever catch wind of such a threat from the barracks of Wellspring, I'll send herald or self your way so that we can see the matter settled and people protected. You have my word."

"And you have mine." They clasped arms, a warrior's agreement enforced.

"…Do you remember our drinking contest?" Erhardt asked as they let go, looking down the path that would lead to Olberic's friends and the Gate of Finis. Looking down the path to the next crisis they needed to stop and the young boy they needed to protect.

"Aye!" Olberic laughed as they began walking together, comrades and partners once again. "Though, I won't deny that there are large parts of that day that I have forgotten…"

They laughed together as they reminisced on the old days, as they exchanged plans for the new…

And so they agreed that the Twin Blades of Hornburg would come together whenever Orsterra needed them to, a symbolic, protective banner of red and blue.


	20. One More Adventure

_Thank you all for reading my first 20 stories! Here's to 20 more!_

 _Now that we're at the 20 chapter mark, I'm going to stop putting spoiler warnings in before the chapter. I think you all know roughly what to expect spoiler-wise by now, but if you would like me to continue putting the warnings in, let me know._

 _Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

 _Somedays, Captain Leon Bastralle longed to be a young, adventurous pirate again._

* * *

One More Adventure

Rippletide was a coastal town much like all the rest and somehow twice as boring. However, in all his travels, Leon had never come across a town that felt more like a home, a safe haven to rest in every time he sailed nearby.

Perhaps it was the fine food and wine that made him linger, or perhaps it was because the young merchant lass he'd come to trust so quickly lived there. Perhaps it was because this was where Tressa had first made him reminisce on a time in his life that he'd thought long forgotten…

Captain Leon Bastralle, the Sea Serpent and Scourge of the Middle Sea had been replaced by a Merchant Captain over a decade ago and yet… Never in his life had he missed those days more than when he met Tressa again in Victors Hollow and recounted his last story of Baltazar. Never in his life had he longed for such foolhardy adventures again.

Not that he could return to that way of life again now. It'd been far too long, and he was far older now that he'd been back then. Though his talent with his spear was as impressive as ever, he'd grown accustomed to a merchant's life and was unsure if he'd be able to take adventures in his stride in quite the same way he had as a young pirate.

And yet, that envious pang hit his chest again as he remembered how the lass had chosen that apothecary's journal. How, despite all the priceless treasures on his ship that she could've chosen, she chose a diary of only sentimental value and set out on an adventure of her own because of it.

It was the same envy he felt when he first met Graham, actually. Seeing the young apothecary so eager to return to his wife's side that he'd offer all that he could to travel with a former pirate… It brought a longing to his chest that he hadn't felt since.

Back when he was Tressa's age, he'd travel far and wide with adventure in his sails and stolen leaves in his coffers. It had been a simpler time, a far more selfish and primitive time, to be sure. And no, he didn't want to return to it, at least not in the same way…

But Gods be damned if he didn't want to experience that rush of adrenaline one more time!

The problem lay in the fact that he had no idea where to go to find this adventure. It wasn't like someone was just going to walk up to him and ask him to journey with them to the end of the world, now was it?

"Mr Leon!" A recognisable voice called to him, breaking him from his thoughts and away from his brooding staring out to sea. He turned in his spot at the edge of the pier to see Tressa running up to him, a broad smile on her features.

"Good to see you again, Lass." He nodded to her, arms still crossed over his chest.

"What brings you back to Rippletide?" She asked, moving to stand next to him.

"I'm trying to decide my next heading," Leon gazed out to the horizon again. "Should I turn my sail east or west?"

Tressa stared out at the horizon as well, seeming to be deciding whether she should ask him something or not. Eventually, she blurted out, "What about south?"

"South, eh?" He pondered for a moment, thinking of all the towns he'd visited to the south of the continent and beyond. "Never found much down there before… Who's to say this time can't be different, though?"

Tressa nodded slightly, still seemingly having more to say. With a smile, he asked her outright, "Do you have a destination in mind for me, Lass?"

"Well…" She hesitated. Granted, he hadn't known her long, but seeing Tressa hesitate on something probably meant it was something important. "My friends and I are planning on travelling south soon and I thought, maybe, you might want to join us?"

"Oh?" Leon asked, surprised by Tressa's question. He was a seafaring man, after all, travelling by foot over land was something he hadn't done in many a year.

"You see," Tressa started, seemingly nervous. "We met another traveller during our journeys named Kit and it looks like he's being manipulated by a woman into doing her evil biddings in former Hornburg. And, according to Therion and Sir Olberic, the Gate of Finis is located in former Hornburg and Professor Albright and Sister Ophilia believe that the Dark God Galdera is locked behind there. So, we need to save Kit from Lyblac and Galdera and we kinda need all the help we can get…"

She looked up at him with begging eyes, terrified of what was to come but desperate to save her friend. There was a streak of boldness and courage in her a mile wide; she certainly had far more faith in her convictions than he did at her age.

Not that Leon spared a second thought for that at the time. A decade ago, he'd heard the name Kit from a travelling apothecary who gave him his journal for safe passage home to his wife and son. Over the years he'd heard more myths and legends about the 13th God than he cared to count, so he'd certainly heard tale of the sorcerer who sealed him away.

Kit Crossford was in far more danger than the group of travellers realised.

And Gods be damned if this wasn't the adventure he'd been looking for.

Leon turned to Tressa, a spark in his eyes that had been dead for far too long. His desire to save the lad was almost as strong as his lust for adventure. With a grin he asked her, "What's our heading?"

Leon left his ship in the care of his crew and started a journey across land with Tressa's group of travelling misfits to save the son of a man he'd known over a decade ago. So it was that Captain Leon Bastralle set foot on his first adventure as a Merchant Captain, his true, adventurous spirit showing its face ever more with each passing battle.


	21. A Story Swept Away

_It's been a little while since the last character death chapter, so I think this one's a little overdue!_

 _As always, I'll be doing a second update this week, but it might be on Tuesday rather than the usual Wednesday since I might be working away on the 5th._

 _Anyway, I hope you like this chapter - I'll probably be back Wednesday with a happier one!_

* * *

 _Tragedy: At the end of the day, H'aanit's still Z'aanta's prentice. And a dragon's a beast far greater than any she's fought before..._

* * *

A Story Swept Away

In the old days, dragons had been as common as rats and ten times as civil. The legends say that there were even ancient hunters able to tame them, to communicate with them as well as they did with humans.

So H'aanit had often thought it odd that only three remained, as dangerous and distant as the Gods themselves.

And yet, time and again she'd heard her master tell the tale of how he'd hunted the Cliftland's dragon at the behest of the Knights Ardante. In one such telling he'd insisted that he'd taken it with his last arrow, his axe as dull as a butter knife and Hägen as tired as a sloth.

But, in all his tellings, Z'aanta had reassured H'aanit that if she ever accomplished a feat as impossible as that, he'd believe her and listen to her every rendition.

"Thou shalt hearen this tale, Master. Over and again, until thou beggest me to stop, just as thou didst to me." H'aanit muttered assuredly as she readied her bow, Linde ever at her side and ready to pounce at the word.

This was her chance to prove herself a hunter worthy of the name, a woman worthy of being the great Z'aanta's prentice. This was to be her first story of many.

And then the dragon flapped its mighty wings and whipped up a gale that sent Linde flying back into the forest with a growl.

"Linde!" H'aanit turned to watch her companion disappear into the snow, removing her watchful eye from the dragon as it prepared its next strike. With a silent sweep of its tail as H'aanit looked away, the dragon knocked the wind out of the huntress and sent her flying against the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Uff!" She grunted as her back hit bark, breath tearing out of her lungs as she struggled to see through the stars in her eyes. H'aanit fumbled with her footing in the deep snow, hands shaking as she begged herself to keep a strong grip on her axe.

The dragon came again, claw raised high above her.

Another time, she would have called Linde to tear at its flank, distracting it as she rolled beneath its belly and sliced at its wings. Another time, she would've stood a chance as the beast bared down on her.

This time, all H'aanit could do was watch in horror as it brought its mighty claw down, ripping her from the tree and flinging her into the snow as she bled out through new cuts. This time, her hunter's wits and reflexes left her as she realised she wasn't as strong as she thought she was, as she realised she might've bitten off far more than she could chew.

 _At least Linde ist not heren,_ she thought to herself as she lay in the snow, unable to move even a finger as the dragon roared above her. _At least she wilt not have to seen my failure._

With her breath beginning to come back to her as quickly as her blood left, H'aanit could only chuckle darkly to herself as the dragon circled around the herb-of-grace. It'd be a story for the scholars if she could pull a win from here, and yet she knew it wasn't coming. She knew there would be no winner here today, certainly not her.

But perhaps, perhaps she could injure the beast so that, when Alaic or Susanna came looking for her, they'd stand a chance. Perhaps, she could even communicate with the beast like the hunters of old, like she did with Linde.

With great difficulty as she continued to bleed out, H'aanit tightened her grip on her axe and began to raise herself as slowly as possible in the snow.

"Thou art a formidable foe!" She called to the dragon, catching its attention enough to make it fall to the ground again. "I can see why thou commandst the forest."

The dragon began to pick its way over to her, snorting in the snow as it smelled the blood of what had surely been a felled foe.

"I will not taken that command awayst from thee," H'aanit said as she continued to raise herself slowly, wincing as she realised that death was far closer than she would've liked. "Nay, I needst only a handful of the herbs thou protecten."

The dragon's face was but feet from her own. With one hand on her axe in the snow, ready to raise it to strike, the huntress leant heavily on her other as she looked at the dragon and begged it to understand her. "Wilt thou letten me take some so that I may leave thee in peace?"

The dragon stared at her, wings tight by its side as it seemed to process her words. For a moment, it even seemed like it understood, like it would comply with her wish.

And then it raised its claw and spread its wings.

And then it struck as H'aanit threw her axe into its forehead and rolled as far out of the way as she could.

It wasn't far enough.

In a matter of seconds, the dragon brought its sharp claws down on H'aanit's exposed side and tore it clean through. With a series of cuts as deep as those, she would've been dead in minutes. However, the dragon seemed keen to add insult to injury as it reared up on its back legs, roaring about the axe between its eyes. It flapped its wings wildly, creating gusts and whirlwinds that swept H'aanit into another tree, cracking her back with such force that, were she to survive the massive blood loss, she'd be paralysed for life.

There would be no winners there that day. The dragon would have an axe planted in its brain for the rest of its life and H'aanit… H'aanit would not be able to rise again from her place, bleeding in the snow.

It was a tale not meant to be told, not meant to be understood by those who came looking for her after. It the tale of H'aanit's last hunt.

"My apologies, Master…" She muttered as the snow beneath her began to feel as warm and welcoming as her blankets back in S'warkii. "My apologies… Linde…"

Shortly, her body would be left for the scavengers and those who came after her, her comrade and partner for the wild. It was the way of wild beasts, and yet H'aanit had fallen into the circle of life as easily as they did…


	22. Someone to Trust

_Second update since Saturday was a tragedy!_

 _This was a request/suggestion/idea from_ _Anthiese back in the very early days of Travel On, I hope you like it friend! (Sorry it took so long!)_

* * *

 _Lady Cordelia has had her trust tested and broken by many over the years, so it makes sense that Heathcote's a little nervous about her obsession with her new, thieving friend._

* * *

Someone to Trust

"Your tea, Miss Ravus." Heathcote announced as he made his way into Cordelia's room, a platter with a teapot and single tea cup on his hand.

"Put it on the table, Heathcote," Cordelia murmured, her voice as far away as her eyes as she stared out the window. "Thank you."

For several weeks, the old butler had put up with Cordelia's pensiveness ways and solemn requests as she mourned the loss of her new, thieving friend. For several weeks, he'd gone about his duties to his young lady as she continued to stare out of her window, ever wondering where her new friend might be, what nefarious deeds he might be up to.

But today - the day that marked a full month since Therion and his ragtag group of travelling companions had left the town - he'd had enough. With a great clatter, Heathcote dropped the tea set on the table and watched as Lady Ravus turned in her window seat and looked at him in surprise.

"Heathcote!" She exclaimed, a hand at her chest. "Is something the matter?"

"Only your attitude, Miss Ravus." Heathcote responded honestly. In his younger years, he'd been a thief, a naïf with manners as appalling as Therion's. After gaining his employ here at Ravus' manor, he'd changed his ways, became a butler in every sense of the word whilst still keeping his thieving contacts on the outside. And, apparently, still keeping his blunt and curt attitude when the occasion arose.

"Whatever do you mean?" Cordelia asked, a scowl in her eyes that suggested she knew exactly what he meant.

"This pensive and – frankly – depressing attitude that you've been expressing all month needs to stop, Miss Ravus. Continue this way and you'll be sad and old long before your time, an old hag at the ripe age of 17."

"Enough, Heathcote!" Cordelia snapped at him, a rare event indeed. Immediately, she looked apologetic, bringing her knees to her chest as tears began to fill her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No. No, you were well within your rights to shout," Heathcote apologised, shaking his head as he began to prepare the tea. "I should not have spoken out of turn like that."

"No, Heathcote… It was the truth after all, I just didn't want to hear it." She sighed.

"I understand, Miss Ravus," the butler smiled gently as he gave her her tea. "I know how painful it can be to lose someone you… _trust_. But, please, don't let it get you down. That little scoundrel will return one day, I'm sure of it."

"Thank you, Heathcote." Cordelia gave him a weak little smile as she took her tea and turned her attention to the sight behind the glass once again. "I'm certain he'll return too… and I'm sure to encounter many more people I can trust more than him, it's simply that…"

"I understand, Miss Ravus." Heathcote put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she trailed off again. The truth was, he understood a lot more than Cordelia would ever tell him through events that had taken place in his life that he'd never tell her. The pair were far more alike than either one would admit.

"I just wish…" Cordelia started and immediately trailed off as something outside her window caught her eye. Before Heathcote could ask her what she saw, she was on her feet, cup negligently thrown to the side and tea spilling everywhere as she ran out of her door and down the stairs.

"I'll clean this up, then…" the butler murmured as he absentmindedly opened the window to air out the room. As he did, he gave a quick glance at whatever could've made Cordelia sprint from her room so quickly and carelessly, chuckling to himself as he saw the flash of purple and white arguing with the guards at the gate. "Well, well… Welcome back, Mr Therion…"

Though he knew he should go down to greet the thief with his lady, something made him hesitate and clean Cordelia's room instead, half an eye and ear on the scene unfolding through the window. Perhaps he knew that him being there would interfere with whatever they were going to say to one another, or perhaps he just wanted to be nosy and the opportunity to tease Cordelia later…

"Mr Therion!" Heathcote heard her exclaim through the window as he half watched her run up to the thief, stopping herself from hugging him at the last possible instance as she crossed her hands in her lap. "Whatever brings you back here?"

"I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd stop by…" Heathcote stopped his futile attempts a cleaning as he heard Therion obviously lie, turning his attention fully to the scene on the other side of the glass.

"Well, it's nice to see you again!" Cordelia responded after a pause, knowing just as well as her butler did that Therion was lying.

The thief gave a half smile before seeming to shrink into his scarf. "I've just come back from closing the Gate of Finis. Looks like someone opened it shortly after the Dragonstones were stolen. You should really be more careful with them, y'know, we came this close to Galdera being let loose."

"My apologies," Cordelia shook her head in disbelief, as surprised as Heathcote was that someone had manage to do that in the short time they'd all been stolen. "I'll keep a close eye on them to make sure it doesn't happen again."

From his vantage point, it looked to the butler like Therion nodded, but his head was so deep in his scarf and poncho that he couldn't be certain. "Do that. And… if you ever need someone to fetch them back for you again, or someone to just steal something for you… send for me."

Heathcote smiled as he turned his attention back to cleaning up the spilt tea. He remembered a time some decades ago when he'd said something similar to Master Ravus; when an infamous and talent young thief had made a vow to a noble to help them if they ever found themselves in need.

"Thank you, Mr Therion." He heard Cordelia say, her voice thick with so many emotions. "I'm glad to know I can count on you."

"It's… nothing…" It sounded like the thief was slipping even farther into his scarf, likely desperately trying to hide his emotions.

In all his years in Ravus employ, Heathcote had seen many people wander in and out of his lady's life; more often than not leaving it having gained something for themselves and taken some shred of faith and trust from Cordelia. It had taken only his kindness and trust to keep her optimistic, to keep her hoping that someday her trust in others would not be misplaced.

And, after seeing how the young thief spoke about Darius and his past, it seemed as though Therion was in need of someone he could trust as well; someone to help him remember that, for all the bad in the world, there was reason to go on and keep believing - even as a cynic.

In all his life, Heathcote never thought he'd see two people so in need of trust and faith come into each other's lives with their barriers ready to be broken. Never had he thought he'd get to witness that trust gained and grow with his own two eyes.


	23. A Shot at Redemption

_This was also a suggestion/request from_ _Anthiese back in Travel On's early days. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

 _Vanessa had been content with her new lot in life, living in the back of a cave wasn't as bad as it sounded. So why did Alfyn have to come along and bother her - again?_

* * *

A Shot at Redemption

Vanessa Hysel had been happy, content with her line of work and the success she'd achieved in it. She'd been wealthy, had everything she could ever desire at the expense of a few local herbs and the ignorance of the laymen. She'd been making a name for herself as an apothecary to be trusted, to be sought after whenever she passed through town.

Then Alfyn had come along and ruined everything.

With a strength and resolve that Vanessa hadn't expected from so scruffy and poor a man, Alfyn had fought off her sellswords with practised ease and left her to fend for herself for once. Taking a leaf out of her book, he'd even been cunning enough to prick her with that damned thorn, inducing a sleep surrounded in nightmares and guilt as he waited for the guards to arrive and take her away.

Her month in jail had certainly been the worst of her life. Without her concoctions, she'd been forced to fend for herself in there; without her riches, she'd had nothing to bargain with. And the whole while she was in there, she couldn't help but realise her own guilt and regret all the actions that had led to this.

The whole time she was locked up, she'd resented ever speaking to Alfyn, ever giving him the time of day and the opportunity to get that thorn under her skin.

Once she was finally free, Vanessa had been left with nothing. All her riches had been repossessed in her absence and her sellswords had gone their separate ways now that no one was paying for them. With only her satchel full of herbs and tonics, she'd left Goldshore with no one to rely on, nothing to turn to.

She'd left town with her head hung low and guilt almost consuming her entire being.

Vanessa got as far as Undertow Cove just outside of Rippletide before she realised that there was nowhere else for her to go. No one would trust her, no one would spare a second glance in her direction or drop a leaf for her to pay for food. She was just another vagabond beyond redemption.

So, what better place for her to set up a home than the back of a leviathan filled cave? What better place to hide and lament where she could be sure no one would come knocking?

She'd been some semblance of happy there, content in the knowledge that her hiding out in this cave for the rest of her days would mean no one would have to see just how far she'd fallen.

Then Alfyn came along and ruined everything. _Again._

"Howdy, Vanessa," his voice echoed through the cave, long after she'd accepted her new lot in life. "Fancy meetin' you here!"

Turning to him, she saw him sauntering on through with his axe slung over his shoulder negligently and a fresh cut on his cheek from one of the cave's monsters. He was also smiling, that damned, infernal smile of his.

It was safe to say she wasn't impressed by his sudden intrusion. "What is wrong with you?! Why are you here!?"

"I was passin' through the cove lookin' for someone with my friends when I remembered that Saltworts grew down this side of the Coastlands," he gestured at the barnacle like objects that decorated the walls of her 'home' with his axe. "Looks like I'm not the only who knows how useful they can be!"

"I didn't do anything to deserve this!" Vanessa protested out of the blue as Alfyn walked up to one of the walls and started to scrape the Saltwort into a small pouch with his axe.

"No?" He asked, not even looking in her direction. The lad was either incredibly confident of his abilities with the axe or just too naïve to think that Vanessa wouldn't take this opportunity to plunge her dagger into his back. "You didn't deceive a buncha people for your own gain and profit? You didn't let people die from symptoms _you_ induced because they couldn't pay your exorbitant prices?"

Scowling, Vanessa gritted her teeth as she raised her dagger high. Alfyn had no idea what he was talking about, no idea how much pain he was causing a poor girl just trying to move on. She thought he'd have no idea that she was about to plunge her dagger into his back.

Instead, he hooked it under the tip of his axe as she charged against him, flipping it up and out of her hand with his back still to her, axe flicking back over his shoulder. As he flicked his axe back to face him, the dagger flew over his head and out of Vanessa grip before landing carefully in his hand.

If she didn't know better, she would've said he'd done that before.

"I'm not quite as naïve as I look, Vanessa," Alfyn said as he slipped his new pouch of Saltwort into his satchel, axe in one hand and dagger in the other.

"Give me my dagger back." She glared at him. In all her life she'd never hated a man more; he'd ruined her life, destroyed everything she'd worked so hard to earn. And now he was holding the last of her possessions.

Turning the dagger around in his hand in interest, he slipped his axe away. "How do I know you won't try t' stab me with it again?"

"You don't." Vanessa growled, her hand tightly gripping a bottle in her bag that contained sleepweed powder. If he kept bothering her, he'd soon be sleeping with the leviathans.

"How 'bout a trade then?"

"You've already taken literally everything I own, I have nothing more to give you. Besides, that dagger's _mine_ to begin with."

"I don't want to trade items with you, I need your help with somethin'," Alfyn held the dagger hilt towards her, teasing her with the fact that it was just out of her grip.

"What could you possibly need me for?" Asked she, her hand still tight around the sleepweed bottle.

"Me and my friends are looking for a guy, blond kid named Kit-"

"I don't know him."

"I'd've been surprised if you did!" Alfyn laughed at Vanessa's interruption. "Apparently he's mixed up with some business in former Hornburg and we're gonna go save him. It's an all hands on deck type situation, we need as much help as we can get."

"I'm not helping you." She said simply with a shake of her head. Never, would she _ever_ help this man in all her life; and he had some nerve thinking she would.

Alfyn paused, looking down at her in vague interest before holding her dagger out for her to take. "Alright. Enjoy your life here then, your neighbours are a bit monstrous but I'm sure you'll get along _just fine_. …If you wanna chance to redeem yourself, know that helping me with this would be just that."

"What do you mean?" Vanessa asked as she took back her dagger.

"Well, if you're seen travellin' freely with me and my friends, it'll improve your image, no? And if you help us, I'll spread good rumours about you in each town we pass – great way to get customers again, wouldn't you agree?"

With a hard stare in his direction, she pondered his words. Just recently she'd made peace with the fact that she'd likely never be an apothecary again, that she'd never get to help people again. And, in truth, if there was one thing she truly missed about her time as an apothecary, it wasn't the riches or the deception (though those were fun) it was the look she got from people as they thanked her for saving a life that was precious to them.

After a tense few moments contemplation, Vanessa finally lowered her head and released her grip on the sleepweed powder in her bag. "I suppose it'd do me some good to get away from the leviathans…"

"That's the spirit!" Alfyn exclaimed, wrapping his arm around her shoulder immediately to guide her out of the cove and back to his travelling friends. "Trust me, the honest path is a much better path ta tread!"

"If you say so…" Vanessa agreed half-heartedly, not wanting to admit to herself or Alfyn that the this was the best chance she'd ever been given. She silently vowed take every opportunity along this short journey to redeem herself, even if it did mean travelling with the man who'd ruined her life.


	24. A Simple Grave

_With everything Graham had done for them, the least they could do was make his son smile again._

* * *

A Simple Grave

Had he lived to see him grow up, Alfyn knew that Graham would've been proud of the man his son had become.

With such strength in his convictions and an unwavering faith in people – Ogen would call it foolhardy naivety – Kit had travelled twice around Orsterra in search of even a tell-tale sign that his father had passed that way before stumbling into Lyblac's devious path. Sure, he hadn't had the same strength to defy her that Graham had had, but, looking at how things had worked out, Alfyn was grateful for that. They didn't need another Red-Eye on their hands. .

H'aanit was barely coping with the realisation as it was.

In fact, it was her suggestion to take Kit to Orewell to see the little tribute grave Alfyn had made for Graham.

So, marching to the sombre beat of their own hearts, the group of travellers found themselves in Orewell once again. The air there was still heavy with sorrow and pain, the cawing of the scavenging birds soaring under the impossibly high bridges only added to the dour atmosphere.

"Why just here?" Kit asked as Alfyn showed him the grave, H'aanit on his left and Tressa to his right.

"I can't really explain it…" Alfyn rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at the grave he'd made again. "It just felt right, I guess."

"I see…" Kit bowed his head. They didn't know him all that well, honestly. He'd just been another traveller they'd met along the way, one they couldn't take with them since they couldn't help him with what he needed. Yet they all cared for him, had all risked their lives to save him and explain to him how much of an impact his father had had in shaping their lives.

And, by the gods, they were going to see him smile again!

"…Tell me again how you three knew him." After a long pause, Kit finally spoke again, a sorrowful mutter under his breath. "…I'd… I'd like to hear the stories again, if that's not too much trouble…"

"Not at all!" Tressa seemed to lack her usual prep and cheer at the moment, but she was all to eager to give someone else a reason to keep smiling. "I mean, I didn't really realise I was following in his foot steps until after I gave his diary to Noa… But I bet, if we ask her, she'd be more than happy to provide a copy of his tale!"

"I… I think I'd like to read that."

"Absolutely!" The merchant nodded to herself. "Once we're finished up here, I'll take you to Grandport and get a scribe to write you a copy. I can even get them to include my journey in there too if you'd like, that way you can read all about how I tried my best to follow in his footsteps!"

"That… That sounds nice." From where Alfyn stood, he was almost certain he saw the tell-tale twitching of Kit's lips into a smile.

"I think… If I had to pick one thing from my entire journey and Graham's diary that really sticks with me…" Tressa tapped her lip as she thought, starting at Graham's grave. "It'd be his optimism. Everywhere he went he tried to make the world a little better, a little brighter as he healed the sick and brewed his final elixir. That's what I want to do. I want to make the world a little brighter with a good trade here and a great deal there!"

"You want to make people happy." Kit nodded to himself, a very small smile on his lips that didn't dare touch his eyes. "Father would be proud. Everything he did was in the pursuit of making others lives better…"

"That's what I'm tryin' to do too," Alfyn interjected, a hand resting against his friend's shoulder. "Your pop saved my life, without him I'd've been dust long ago! So, everything I've ever done was to make him proud of me too, wherever he was. I wanted to be just like him, an apothecary with a heart of gold to make up for my empty coffers."

"You don't ask for payment for your talents, do you?"

"Not at all!" Alfyn grinned down on his friend. It was nice to say this aloud to Kit since it was as close as he'd get to admitting it to Graham personally. All he'd ever wanted to do was show his saviour the man he'd become, and in his absence, making Kit smile again would have to suffice. "I see someone in a bind and I help them out, simple as that. No leaves need exchange hands as long as I know a job's been well done!"

"Father would be proud of you too…" For a moment, it looked like Kit was smiling, like Alfyn's words had made him realised that there would always be someone around to keep his dad's spirit alive. Then he turned to the uncomfortable looking H'aanit. "How do you know him again, Lady Huntress?"

"Aah…" H'aanit stuttered, one of the first times Alfyn had ever seen her look truly uncomfortable. During their travels, H'aanit had always seemed as stoic as could be, her emotions rarely got the better of her and rarely did she ever seem anything less than in her element. Right now, however… "Ahh, I, that ist, I…"

"You were the one who killed him, that's right…" Kit's small glimmer of a smile disappeared, replaced by that crushing sorrow that took over people when they realised their parents were never coming back.

"Nay. I didst not kill Graham Crossford." H'aanit shook her head. "I slew the beast known as Red-Eye. A monster liken no other, capable of killing without remorse. …That ist, that is what I believed it to ben. Had I known the truth, had I evenst so much as suspected that Red-Eye might havest once been a man… I wolde not have stayen my arrows, but I wolde haven tried to finde a way to make him man again."

Linde bumped her head against her mistress' leg in understanding, not liking seeing her sad any more than her other friends did.

"…I'm actually grateful, H'aanit." Kit finally said, breaking the bleak silence that had descended on them.

"Pardon?"

A small chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. "How do I go about explaining this...? Father… He valued human live above everything else. He wanted nothing more than for people to be happy and healthy, even if that meant having to get rid of a few things along the way to guarantee that. Were he conscious enough to realise what he was doing, I'm sure he would've been horrified with what he'd done and grateful for you providing him with an escape."

"But, in his final diary-"

"I read it too, H'aanit. And, as much as he may have been convinced that he was still a man, Father had become a monster, a terror to all humans. I know he would've been grateful for you releasing his spirit from the beast he'd become."

The four of them fell into silence again, staring at the simple grave Alfyn had made with chills running up and down their spines. They were Graham's son, his adventurous spirit, his healing hands and his 'killer'. In the realest sense of the word, the four of them had met only because of Graham, their entire journeys shaped by him.

And it was safe to say that none of them knew what they were going to do or where they were going to go from here.

But Gods be damned, they were going to continue carrying out his legacy!

"Father," Kit bowed his head before the grave again for a moment before raising it with determination. "We're going to continue travelling in honour of you. We're going to continue to make people smile for you. I promise."

He turned to the group of travellers behind him, flashing them an honest – if not tear ridden – grin. "I'm going to keep on smiling, for you."

And so they all did, even H'aanit managed to crack a smile at Kit's insistence. They smiled for him, making promises to keep going before his grave.

Alfyn watched his friends make promises they were certain they could keep to a man they'd never gotten to met as he remembered his words to him all those years ago. As he remembered why he'd approached all these people as he'd made his way around Orsterra healing the sick:

" _I saw someone in a bind, and I helped them out. Simple as that."_

When Alfyn had first met everyone he now travelled with, they'd all been in their own binds, situations they needed someone else's help with whether they want to admit it or not. And he'd been there to help them with his concoctions and axe. He'd helped everyone he'd ever come across in some small way, all to honour the once nameless traveller who'd saved his live and given him new purpose all those years ago.

"Thank you, Graham, for everything." Once again, Alfyn mumbled those words to the grave, knowing that, wherever he was, Graham would hear them and know just how much good he was still contributing to the land he'd once called home.


	25. The Best Present

_Happy Holidays everyone! I cannot thank any of you enough for your continued reading and support of Travel On, in my wildest dreams I never thought it'd be doing this well or that I'd've made it this far!_

 _I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, so much so that it's one of my favourite recent chapters, so I hope you like it!_

* * *

 _Every year Tressa celebrated Bifelgan's giving day with her family and friends in Rippletide. This year, she was travelling with seven other people who'd rarely celebrated the holiday. It was safe to say she wasn't expecting much in the way of presents..._

* * *

The Best Present

Bifelgan's day had been Tressa's favourite holiday for as long as she could remember.

As the daughter of a pair of merchants, she'd come to worship Bifelgan early, like the rest of her little town. She thanked him for each successful day of profit and prayed that he'd continue to favour her family with his winds of fortune.

So, it had come as a surprise to meet people who worshiped the other Gods during her travels. And it had come as more of a surprise to learn that none of her travelling friends celebrated Bifelgan's day like she did – some of them didn't even celebrate it at all!

Ophilia's celebrations were quiet and subdued, apparently. As a daughter of the church, her first duty was to Aelfric and her favoured holiday was Aelfic's day, the turn of the New Year – the apparent day that Aelfric had sealed Galdera away with the Sacred Flame. Ophilia and her adopted family still celebrated Bifelgan's day, but they gave no gifts, so what was the point?

H'aanit – growing up in S'warkii with all its hunter customs – hadn't even known there were holidays other than Draefendi's feast. All she'd ever celebrated with her Master and hunter friends was the harvest hunt, the day when they all baked sweet treats and left their scraps for the beasts and their Goddess. No hunting was to occur on Draefendi's day, there was only the feast.

Therion just barely worshiped a God, but Tressa had seen him, on more than one occasion, ask for the Prince of Thieves guidance. She'd seen him silently ask Aeber's blessing before breaking into a manse and stealing its contents; she'd seen him thank Him for His guidance in escaping capture from the city guards yet again. But Aeber didn't have a holiday, and, as a wanderer, Therion had experienced Bifelgan's day a few times. From the way he fidgeted and tried to change the subject whenever she asked about it, Tressa got the feeling that it wasn't really an experience he wanted to recall.

Then there was Alfyn, Dohter's worshipper of the group. Dohter's day was not too dissimilar to Bifelgan's day when you got down to it – both of them involved giving – but they were still different enough that Alfyn had a hard time getting his head around Tressa's deity's holiday. Dohter the Charitable's day was just that, a day about giving whatever you could spare to those who had nothing; Bifelgan's day was a day of trading items of wealth and importance to family, neighbours and friends - a day of showing those you loved just how much you cared for them by buying them the most expensive gift known to man.

Alfyn just couldn't understand that, but he wanted Tressa to be happy all the same. So, he smiled and nodded as she explained, thinking of what he could afford to get her.

Primrose, like Therion, just barely worshipped a Goddess. Still, she did thank Sealticge for blessing her with her dancing abilities and lack of stage fright. After a particularly good performance, Primrose was known to go into a meditative state that her friends had come to recognise as her way of praying to her Goddess and thanking Her. But Sealticge, like Aeber, didn't have a day of Her own, and Primrose hadn't had the occasion nor desire to celebrated holidays since her Father's death.

Brand the Thunderblade's holiday was competitive. It was either a feast or a tourney, depending on the people celebrating it, and always involved the finest warriors of the village either sparing or competing to see who could catch the biggest game. That said, Olberic had experienced Bifelgan's day every year as a Knight of Hornburg. Traders from across the realm had come to visit King Alfred and presented him with goods in the hope of gaining his favour for the year. So, not quite the same celebrations that Tressa knew, but at least Olberic had some familiarity with her deity's holiday.

It was more than could be said for Cyrus, after all.

Cyrus worshipped Alephan, the Scholarking, and – much like the Prince of Thieves and Lady of Grace – Alephan didn't have a holiday. He did, however, encourage his followers to learn all they could about the other holidays across Orsterra. So, on a theoretical level at least, Cyrus knew enough about Bifelgan's day to get by; certainly not enough to know what to buy Tressa for it though.

So, when Bifelgan's day came around this year, Tressa was halfway across the continent from her home town with a group of people who – at the very least – hadn't celebrated Bifelgan's day for years.

She hadn't expected anything. She hadn't _wanted_ anything. And it hadn't been much of a surprise to see her friends and travelling companions ignore the day and simply go about their business in town. Instead of joining them, she'd asked to spend the day alone in her inn room.

She definitely wasn't crying in there.

No, she was just writing a letter home and remembering every Bifelgan's day she'd ever experienced. She remembered every gift she'd ever gotten or given from the necklace she'd given her mother two years ago to the hat that she wore everyday that her father had given her when she was 15. With a heavy heart and tears in her eyes, for the first time since starting her journey Tressa regretted leaving home.

Gods, how much she would give to be able to see her parents right now, to show them how much she'd grown and the rare items she'd found along the way!

Instead, she was holed up in a foreign inn room, alone and certain that her friends – as much as she loved them – wouldn't be getting her anything for the holiday.

So it came as a hell of a surprise when Therion knocked on her door a few short hours before midnight.

"Tressa?" He quietly called as he tapped his knuckles to the door again. "Wake up."

The merchant groaned as she woke. She was still sad and testy, in no mood to see her thieving friend. Still, she wrapped herself in a blanket and opened the door for him. "What do you want, Therion?"

"Get dressed." He ordered, no room for arguments in his tone. Still half asleep, Tressa shrugged and pulled on her boots, making no effort to change out of her pyjamas or the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders.

Therion started at her for a moment, waiting for her to go and change into something warmer, but after a few minutes watching her simply stand in the doorway in a blanket and boots, he shrugged. "Good enough. Come with me."

With a raised eyebrow, Tressa followed Therion out of her room and down the stairs to the inn's common room. Still half asleep, she moved sluggishly with no thoughts of where Therion could be taking her or what was so important that he had to wake her up to show her.

Nothing could've prepared her for what she saw in that common room.

Her six other travelling companions were lounging on the communal chairs and sofas, all smiling and waiting patiently for her. On the floor was a large, intricately wrapped box that Linde was clearly desperate to play with.

Confused, Tressa looked from one friend to the next before turning back to thief at her side. "What's going on?"

"Open it." He gestured to the box in the middle of the room.

Cautiously, Tressa approached the box – conscious that all eyes were on her as she did. Kneeling before it, she pulled off the ribbon and threw it in Linde's direction watching for a moment as the leopard's eyes widened, butt wiggled and whiskers flicked forward. A second later, Linde pounced and immediately got herself tangled in the ribbon. She seemed rather pleased with herself.

Tressa laughed at the giant cat as she pulled the paper off the box before throwing that in Linde's direction as well. Still tangled in the ribbon, Linde then pounced on the paper, wriggling herself under it and probably thinking herself incredibly well hidden as she purred in excitement.

"Tressa," H'aanit smiled a little pityingly at her, "Focus on thy present, not Linde."

"But she's so happy!" Tressa laughed, opening the box and pulling out the small frame within.

When she finally looked at it, her laughter stopped.

In her hands, she held a bronze frame no bigger than a book, intricately worked and clearly costly. But the frame was worth nothing compared to the image behind the glass.

Nine faces started back at her – eight human and one leopard – each a self-portrait drawn in a different colour with differing degrees of talent.

The faces of H'aanit and Linde had been drawn in a pink ink and were rather messy and at times a little childish, but the subject was clear enough and smiling warmly – as warmly as a single curved line can smile. Ophilia was drawn in a pale blue with some considerable talent – each lock of hair was clearly defined and her smile had lips – though her eyes were a little wild. The black outline of Cyrus was perhaps the most accurate and impressive, not that Tressa was surprised – he _was_ a well-versed scholar. As impressive as it was, it didn't have quite the same charm to it as Olberic's square stick-figure's D shaped grin. Primrose's red portrait had her charming smile and Alfyn's green mess was vaguely recognisable as him, if only because of his hair.

But it was Therion's purple outline that was perhaps the most accurate. With a little circle for a hand holding onto his scarf, the figure was trying to hide his smile in much the same way that the thief behind her was currently. As much as the other people were recognisable and clearly defined, it was Therion's half hidden smile that brought tears to Tressa's eyes.

That and the seven different iterations of herself next to each of the self-portraits.

Each had been drawn in yellow ink with the same characteristic look about them as the others: H'aanit's iteration had a simple line smile and two dots for eyes; Ophilia's was accurate and clear with slightly off-putting eyes. Cyrus' was too accurate for her liking and Olberic's had a D shaped grin that truly captured Tressa's smile. Primrose's was simple and charming where Alfyn's was a barely recognisable mess. And Therion's… Therion's drawing of her had her eyes closed and mouth open in a toothy grin, her hat somewhat flying back in some form of wind.

"What is this?" She asked in a quiet voice, smile on her lips but tears in her eyes.

"Happy Bifelgan's day!" Her friends all cheered, coming to stand closer to her and offer her hugs. Linde had a giant paw in the box that the frame had been in, still covered in the paper and ribbon, and was smiling up to her as much as a snow leopard could smile.

"I don't-" Tressa started before shaking her head and throwing herself into the nearest pair of arms – Ophilia's. "Thank you."

Ophilia laughed. "It was Therion's suggestion!"

"When we realised we wouldn't have the leaves to buy you something you truly deserved, we figured we'd make something instead." Primrose said, stroking her hair and pointing at the picture still in her hands. "Leon gave us the frame."

"Yeah, it's apparently some kind of antique from another country," Alfyn told her when it was his turn for a hug. "He wouldn't take any payment for it when we told him it was for you!"

"R-really?" Tressa asked in a tiny voice, thick with emotions.

"Truly." Olberic patted her shoulder before leaning down to whisper "My apologies, my artistic abilities are a little lacking."

She laughed at him, secretly loving his adorable stick-figures huge grins more than Cyrus' hyper realism.

Soon, she'd hugged and thanked all her friends, apart from one. Leaving her present with H'aanit to look at again, she turned to Therion.

"Was this really your idea?"

"I can't take all the credit," he mumbled into his scarf.

"Well, thank you." She smiled up at him, that toothy grin he'd so perfectly captured in his drawing. "It's the best Bifelgan's day present I've ever received!"

"It's nothing…" The thief blushed into his scarf, an almost perfect imitation of his own portrait, before sighing in acceptance of the merchant's hug.

Tressa grinned over his shoulder, tears still in her eyes. Yes, she might miss her family and maybe a part of her still wished to be in Rippletide for her holiday, but the Gods had each blessed her with seven loveable travellers who'd each had a hand in making something beautiful for her.

"Thank you." She whispered to Therion again as she started to let him go.

"Your welcome." He whispered in return, smiling down at her, no scarf to obscure the view.

They both grinned a little impishly at each other then – neither of them were big on prolonged displays of emotions – and turned back to the rest of their group, joining in with their joking about each other's artistic abilities.


	26. Aelfric's Day

_I just want to take the time to thank everyone for reading and to wish you all a wonderful New Year!_

* * *

 _Aelfric's day had been Ophilia's favourite holiday for as long as she could remember, but how can you celebrate the turn of the New Year when you're ending the year worse than you started it?_

* * *

Aelfric's Day

Aelfric's day was said to mark the day, some 1600 years previously, that Aelfric had called the Sacred Flame down from the heavens to seal Galdera away. As the day that ended this year and started the next, it was very much a day of new beginnings.

And it had been Ophilia's favourite day for as long as she could remember.

From what Ophilia had heard in her travels, each of her companions and friends celebrated the day differently: Alfyn would hold a feast with Zeph in Clearbrook for all to attend; he would celebrate with his village as he always had. Although, this year, there would be a new face at the table – an old apothecary who was in desperate need of starting again this new year. Tressa had plans with her family and Leon in Rippletide – a feast would also be held there, a much less cosy one.

Both Tressa and Alfyn had expressed their desire to start over in the new year as better, stronger people. The year had been good to them, so they were going to be good to the next one.

Ophilia couldn't say she felt the same.

A lot had happened to her this year and, whilst she'd definitely come out a stronger, braver person, she'd also lost a lot. However, she hadn't lost nearly as much as her sister had.

There had been a time in her life, some 15 years ago, that Ophilia had nearly given up hope. Her family dead and village destroyed by the flames of war… What hope had a five-year-old without a home to call their own? What kind of person would take an orphaned young girl off the streets and treat her like his own blood?

The kindest person in Orsterra.

Josef had pulled her up from the floor, given her a reason to dry her tears and a warm home in the coldest region of the country. He'd given her a sister to love and care for, a staff to carry and a faith in the world and the Flame that had spared her.

How easily things could've gone the other way.

How easily things _could still_ go another way…

Ophilia shook her head. There was no place for thoughts like these on Aelfric's day.

"Liana?" She'd stood outside her sister's door for a long time before finally knocking. "Ana? I'm coming in…"

Liana was sat on her bed, back to the door. There was clearly something in her hands, something she'd been holding onto for far to long.

"Liana," Ophilia approached her cautiously, a hand out to rest on her shoulder. "Liana, put it down."

"He's not an it, Phili." Liana clutched the urn closer to her chest, hugging it as tight as a child would hug their favourite soft toy.

"I know," Ophilia knelt in front of her sister, one hand on her shoulder, the other outstretched and asking for the urn. "But you need to put him down. The people are waiting."

"Let them wait."

"Liana-"

"Phili," she looked her sister square in the eye, giving view to the red marks on her face, the pure, unadulterated sadness that had taken up residence in her once clear eyes. "I don't know how to celebrate without him."

With a tired, sad smile, Ophilia rested a hand on top of the urn. "Neither do I."

"Then let's not celebrate!" Liana's eyes went wide, staring at Ophilia with a kind of crazed hope. "Let's instead pretend that today is like all other days and go about our business as usual!"

"You know we can't do that, Liana…"

"I can't go out there and give a sermon, Phili!" Liana almost shrieked, holding her Father's ashes even closer to her chest. "I can't do it!"

"I'm not-"

"And Father wouldn't want me to! He wouldn't want me to celebrate without him!" She interrupted, practically in hysterics.

"Ana, breathe." Ophilia sat down next to her sister on the edge of the bed and gently lifted the urn free from her arms as she rubbed her back. "Brother Owen will be giving the sermon this year, I've made sure all the preparations are in place and that you'll have nothing to do with it."

"Why…?" Liana looked over at her sister in confusion. "Why would you do that? I'm the daughter of the Arch-Bishop, it's my duty-"

"It's your duty to spend today with your family." Ophilia stood up and held out her hand. "Come on."

"Where…" Liana took Ophilia's hand with a great deal of hesitation. "Where are we going?"

"You know, Ana." She smiled as she led Liana out of the cathedral. "Days like today are best spent outside."

* * *

Soon, the two girls were atop their favourite hill in the village, the one that gave view to everything and everyone as they went about their Aelfric's day preparations. Some were shopping for the finest clothes, others were trying to find the perfect meat for their family's feast; most of the villagers simply stood next to one another chatting, reminiscing on the year and asking one another if they'd be praying at the cathedral later.

Ophilia let go of her sister's hand and sat down, patting the snowy ground next to her as she settled. Soon, both girls were sat together in the snow, hands full of small, snowy wildflowers as they looked in the direction of their cathedral.

"Why are we here, Ophilia?" Liana asked after a few minutes, her voice subdued.

"Because we don't belong in there this year." The cleric tilted her head at their home. "Today is about moving on and getting stronger, neither of us need to stand around and hear what everyone in the village has to say about the kindling."

"What do we have to move on to, Phili?" Liana asked in a dreadfully sad voice.

"I don't know." Ophilia answered, quiet and subdued. "But I know His Excellency wouldn't want us to give up just because he's no longer with us."

"I… I suppose so…"

"Liana," Ophilia turned to her sister, an intricately braided flower crown in her hands – she certainly made that quick. "There's only one promise I want to make going into this new year."

"What's that?" She asked as her sister placed the crown on her head.

"That I will always be here for you, whatever you need." Ophilia smiled gently at her sister as she straightened the crown. "I promise you this."

Back when she'd first arrived here in Stillsnow, Ophilia had been lost, purposeless without any hope for the new year. But Liana had made her a similar promise, she'd promised she'd always be around to make her smile. It was that promise that got her through the hardest times of her life.

So she was going to do everything in her power to get Liana through what had to be the hardest in her own.

"Thank you, Phili." Once again, Liana's eyes filled with tears as she threw herself into her sister's arms.

So long as they had each other, Ophilia was convinced that she and Liana could make it through anything – even the first year without their father.


	27. Fruit Loaves and Father Figures

_Happy 2019 everyone! Thank you all for reading (I know I say it a lot but I'm super grateful to everyone who takes the time to read this) and hello to everyone who started reading over the holiday break, I hope you enjoy my stories - today's chapter is completely spoiler free! As always, I am still taking requests/ideas, so if you have any please let me know! (My backlog runs out late February/early March so I'm looking for ideas!)_

 _Anyway, thanks again, please enjoy!_

* * *

 _Destiny has a funny habit of throwing people into each other's paths. Sometimes it wants help a hunter find her master and sends her an apothecary to befriend; other times, it just wants the pair to bake bread in the forest._

* * *

Fruit Loaves and Father Figures

"So, who taught you how to bake, H'aanit?" Alfyn asked, rolling up his sleeves. In front of them were two bowls of risen bread dough on wooden boards, waiting to be knocked back and put in the fire that was currently busy warming the sleeping Linde and Hägen.

Rather than continuing their journey to the Clifflands, the huntress had decided to sit the apothecary down and teach him how to bake a fruity bread at the roped edge of the S'warkii Dark Wood trail. She'd set up a fire and shown him how to mix together the dough ingredients before kneading the dough and leaving it to prove for the rest of the morning. Leaving both Linde and Hägen to guard the two bowls under a rough blanket next to the fire, the pair had made their way deeper into the woods to forage for fruits and berries. With a basket of berries and fruit under their arms, they'd picked their way back to the fire, ate a quick lunch and were now onto the next stage of the process: mixing in the fruits and shaping the bread.

All this had come about from Alfyn casually mentioning that he didn't know how to cook.

"Master taughte me when I was still small." H'aanit answered as she floured the boards and pulled the dough out of her bowl. Watching closely, Alfyn copied how she knocked back the dough – it seemed to involve punching the dough followed by pulling what you could over your fist and folding it into the gap made by the punch. Then, H'aanit tucked it under itself, spun it around a few times until it was a ball shape and started the punching again. "One must maken sure one hast plentiful provisions before setting out on the hunt. One wilt not lasten long withouten food."

"Wise words." Alfyn smiled as he tried to copy H'aanit's movements. No matter how hard he tried, it always seemed like his dough wasn't nearly as neat as hers – first it was too wet, now it was too dry… "Am I doin' this right?"

Setting her dough aside, H'aanit lent over to Alfyn's board and knocked back his dough twice. It looked better immediately. "Indeed. Thou needst not be so cautious, thy methods art working well."

"Aw shucks, thanks!" He grinned. "I'm just used to workin' with tonics, y'know? It's too easy to mess them up and create a poison rather than an antidote and I don't wanna poison our bread!"

H'aanit laughed as she started to split the fruit between the two trays. "Thou needn't worry. Poisoning bread ist quite difficult. One runs more riske of the bread being too toughe or doughy by kneading than it being poisoned."

The huntress then took the time to explain how to work the fruit into the dough in an even pattern. It involved her placing the dough in the middle of the fruit circle and spinning it around using the ball of her palm, collecting all the fruit as she spun the dough into a sticky ball. Alfyn tried to copy, but all he managed to do was mix all the fruit into one side of the loaf. With a slight chuckle, H'aanit leant over and fixed it for him.

"I maden that mistake many a time when I was first taughte. Baking takes a great amounte of time and practice to master." She placed the bowls over the two, circular loaves and covered them with the blanket before stirring the fire again. "Altoughe, one could saye the same about any craft."

"Ain't that true..." Alfyn lent back on his elbows, knowing he'd be waiting a while before they could next work the bread. "Took me years to learn how to brew potions you could drink safely."

"Truly?" H'aanit raised her eyebrow. "I woulde thinken that brewing potions ist harder than making bread."

"It's just what you learn, ain't it?" Alfyn said quite calmly. "I learnt how to make potions and tonics while you were learning how to make bread and sweet cakes."

"Indeed." She nodded. "Who wast thy teacher?"

That question made Alfyn pause. They'd not known each other long at all; in truth, they'd only met yesterday when Alfyn offered to help the woman kill the monster haunting the woods outside her village. After that, he'd watched as her Master's partner had returned to her home and made a vow to help her on her journey to find Red-Eye and her Master as she helped him on his journey to heal as many as he could.

As he healed in the name of the traveller who'd once saved his life.

"My teacher, huh?" He scratched his chin. "I suppose Zeph and I were our own teachers, following the instructions in his father's books until somethin' worked."

"Thou hadst not a master? Someone thou lookened up to?"

"Those are kinda two different things for me, H'aanit!" Alfyn laughed. "Nah, no one taught me, but there was another apothecary I looked up to..."

Whilst waiting for the bread to double in size again, Alfyn recounted the story of the man who'd saved his life and the journey he'd embarked on to become as much like the man as he possibly could. By the time he finished his tale, the bread had grown and the animals had woken up to watch the next stage of the process.

Taking both of the bread doughs out of their bowls, H'aanit showed Alfyn how to shape them onto the baking boards she'd brought with her – knocking any excess air out of the dough before scoring the tops of the loaves with her knife. Carefully covering the tops of the loaves in some kind of foil, H'aanit pulled a pole out of her bag and used it to shove the two boards into the centre of the hot coals. She took the time to explain to Alfyn that you didn't want to cook the bread in a burning fire as it would cause an uneven and often burnt bake, roasting them on the hot coals of a previous fire was the way to go.

"Do you always cook on an open fire?" Alfyn asked as he watched her set the loaves just right. It was getting towards evening now, the sun would've likely set by the time they ate.

"Nay." She shook her head. "We havest ovens in S'warkii that cooken the loaves perfectly by the dozen. I only cooke on coals on the hunt."

Alfyn nodded. Having explained what his 'master' meant to him, he was suddenly interested in hearing what hers meant to her – especially since he was now helping her look for him. Settling down lower, Alfyn scritched Linde's ears as he asked, "Would you mind awfully telling me a bit more about your own Master, H'aanit?"

"Not at all..." H'aanit settled herself down next to her leopard and her Master's wolf and did her best to explain what Z'aanta meant to her in terms she hoped the apothecary could understand. Between her archaic language and her constant stopping to turn the loaves, H'aanit was sure her explanation of what Z'aanta had done for her, what he meant to her as both as her Master and father figure, had gone over Alfyn's head. Still, he listened intently.

Finally, she pulled their loaves off the coals and carefully opened up the foil covering them, finishing her explanation of her Master as she did. "He meanst more to me than all else, savest only Linde. Master taught me all that I knowst, yet, I knowst there'st still more he hast to impart. Hence why I must finde him."

"I understand." Alfyn nodded, watching the loaves emerge from their wrappings. In truth, he understood everything H'aanit had said and more; he understood that desire to find the one who had set you on the path you trod, the desire to show them how much you'd grown, how much you'd become like them, how you hoped to surpass them… He understood what it was like to have a father figure you wanted desperately to impress, and he was honestly a little jealous that H'aanit knew where to look to find hers.

H'aanit stopped what she was doing for a moment and looked at him closely, realising that he did indeed understand what she'd said. With a small, hopeful smile, she went back to setting the unwrapped loaves on a pair of cool plates so they could eat them without burning themselves. "I'm glad to have met thee, Alfyn."

"Shucks, I'm glad to've met _you_ , H'aanit!" He flashed her a huge grin before turning his attention to the loaves. He pointed at the one closer to him, it was a little misshapen in comparison to the other and there was definitely more fruit on one side. "This one's mine?"

"Indeed." H'aanit nodded, taking out her knife to cut into both of them. "Thou didst well. I have never seenst a cleaner first loaf."

"Shucks, you're making me blush!"

They laughed together as H'aanit revealed the warm insides of the loaves. Tearing off a chunk of each, they sampled each other's loaves. Alfyn's was definitely a little doughier inside and didn't seem to have the same rich flavour that H'aanit's had, but it was edible and not poisonous, which was all he could really hope for.

"Do you make bread often?" Alfyn asked around a mouthful of fruit.

"A hunter must always haven a fresh loaf on hand," she nodded and fed some of the crust to Hägen. "Master taughten me that."

"He sounds like a wise man," Alfyn nodded to himself, thinking about how Zeph had always taught him to have some simple concoctions ready and waiting in his bag. "I look forward to meeting him."

H'aanit nodded. "I looken forward to thou meeting him. I hopen to meet thine travelling apothecary friend during our journey together, too."

"Shucks, do you think we will?" Alfyn asked, suddenly nervous about the idea of meeting the man who'd shaped his life.

"Orsterra's only so big," she shrugged. "And destiny has an amusing habit of makening the most unlikely people crosse paths."

"Yeah," he nodded to himself, bread at his lips but eyes wide at the possibilities this journey presented him with. "It sure does, doesn't it?"

They ate half their loaves that night as they chatted, exchanging hopes for their journeys and stories about the men that had so completely shaped their lives. As the moon rose ever higher, they couldn't help but think they were maybe more alike than they'd originally thought – that maybe destiny had thrown them into each other's paths with the intent that they'd help each other find what they were looking.

Whatever destiny had in store for them, at least they had someone to break bread with when the day was said and done.


	28. An Experience to Treasure

_Today's chapter was requested by Icy Cake and a lot of fun to write! I hope you like it!_

* * *

 _Therion never really understood why the other travelers thought Tressa needed a babysitter when she went searching for treasure... Until he was the one tasked with watching her back._

* * *

An Experience to Treasure

"Therion! Look! Loose gold!" Tressa exclaimed, rushing off to the streambank with one hand on her hat and the other gripping her bag strap.

How in the Hells had he been left to babysit her while the rest of their group helped Ophilia with the Kindling in Saintsbridge?

"You don't get loose gold in cave streams, Tressa." He scoffed as he followed after her, his eyes warily watching for monsters as she obliviously ran to the 'gold'. As H'aanit had said shortly before leaving the merchant in Therion's care "Someone needst watchen her. She can rarely be bothered to looke before she leapst."

Sometimes – when he wasn't the one left to watch after her when she went exploring – Therion forgot just how little she thought before she ran headfirst into things. It was almost charming… Or it would've been if he wasn't the one having to watch her back.

"How do you explain _this_?" Tressa asked as she knelt beside the stream and started to sift the gravel between her fingers. By the time Therion knelt besides her, she had a half a dozen gold nuggets in her hand.

"What the…?" Looking from her handful of gold to the gravel at the bottom of the stream, Therion thrust his hand into the shallow edge of the water and started to sift through the gravel. Less than a minute later he pulled out a chunk of gold ore the size of a rat. Disbelief coloured his features as he turned to Tressa. "How did you spot this from all the way over there?"

 _Why is there gold in a cave stream?_ He silently wondered, knowing it was more unnatural than Tressa's unnerving ability to find money.

Her grin said it all as she started to laugh uproariously. Therion glared and knocked the 'gold' he was holding against the ground a few times. Though the streambed wasn't exactly the hardest material in the world, it still would've made a dent against true gold - instead this 'gold' made a dent against the ground. Tressa laughed even harder.

"Fooled ya!" She pointed at him between giggles pulling out a pouch of Fools Gold from the bottom of her backpack.

"Very funny." Therion pulled on his scarf to hide his embarrassment as he stood up. "Was that _all_ you brought me out to this cave for?"

"No." She shook her head and stood as well, still grinning at him. "I wanted to search this cave for treasure but seeing how bored you looked made me want to mess with you."

He rolled his eyes as they started deeper into the cave. "Nice try. Some of us know you can't find gold in cave streams."

"Yet you still got _really_ excited when you found that chunk at the bottom of the stream…"

"…Watch yourself." Was all he said in reply, hand on his dagger, trying to ignore the girl's grin and bright eyes. He wouldn't let her get the better of him again. He also wouldn't let her fall victim to the bats roosting overhead.

"Why did you come with me anyway?" Tressa asked out of the blue. "I never asked anyone to come with me."

There was a pregnant pause as Therion tried to think of a reason that wouldn't make Tressa feel like a child. "Figured I'd see if there was some treasure in here that I could take myself."

"Nice try," she scoffed. "H'aanit asked you to tag along, didn't see?"

Therion decided he wasn't going to answer that.

"I knew it." She crossed her arms over her chest in anger as she scowled straight ahead. "Well, you know what, H'aanit? Maybe I can be a little ditzy and maybe I don't always pay attention to what's going on in front of me. But I can handle myself!"

 _She can't hear you_. Silently, Therion laughed at the merchant's angry proclamations about being able to take care of herself. In the course of her tirade at H'aanit, she'd almost tripped over the pebble she was kicking three times.

"It's not like I'm going to lose my head when I see treasure and walk straight into a trap!" She continued, though Therion was almost completely zoned out at this point. "Who would ever be that- TREASURE!"

"What-!" Therion exclaimed, his ears ringing. Shaking his head, he watched as the girl ran up to a natural clearing at the back of the cave and the single, white treasure chest in the middle of it. While the merchant's eyes were firmly fixed to the chest, Therion's were scanning the clearing and noticing all the traps and tripwires that Tressa didn't see.

"Tressa, STOP!" He shouted, stopping Tressa in her tracks. Therion never shouted.

"What?" She asked as he started to pick his way over to her. They were still at the edge of the clearing, but Tressa had just barely missed the first trap. "I saw it first, the treasure's mine!"

"The chest's riddled with traps." He pointed out, moving her gently out of the way as he cut the wire at their feet. A boulder bigger than Linde crashed down from the ceiling just inches from where Tressa had been standing moments before. "You're welcome."

"Mrgrgr…" Tressa wasn't a big fan of being proven wrong. Neither was she a big fan of treasure being kept from her by a few traps. "Fine. If you diffuse all the traps, I'll give you half the treasure."

"Half?" Therion asked incredulously. There were a lot of traps in this room… "I'll settle for nothing less than three quarters."

"But I saw the chest first! The treasure's rightfully mine!"

"Then you can rightfully claim it yourself."

Tressa growled again, knowing there was no way she'd be able to diffuse the traps and get out alive. "What if we both take half-"

"No deal."

"-BUT," she gave him a hard look as she continued, "I'll give you half the gold I make from selling my half."

Therion thought about it for a moment. As a thief, he could haggle with the best merchants in the world to make sure he was getting more than his fair share for any products he tried to sell – but no one in the world cut a better deal than Tressa. He extended his hand, "Deal."

They shook on it and Therion set to work.

He'd be the first to admit that he was showing off. The traps were actually far cruder than he'd first thought and an absolute breeze to break – but there were an awful lot of them. More than enough to get him wondering about the value of the treasure they were protecting.

Finally, all the traps were diffused and the pair found themselves stood before the low chest. Up close, they were able to determine that it wasn't painted white but was rather made of bones – intricately woven and painfully broken in multiple places. Some of them were sun-bleached while others were still decorated with skin and rusty coloured blood. It didn't take an archaeologist to figure out that there were more than 50 different sources of those bones.

Despite everything he'd seen in his career, Therion still held back vomit at the sight of the chest. Yet, surprisingly, Tressa approached it with a sort of clinical detachment – not a hint of nausea on her features.

She jangled a rusty padlock holding a collection of finger bones together to keep te contents of the chest firmly out of reach. "It's locked."

Therion sighed and knelt down, pulling out his picks. "This better be worth it." He muttered, fighting against the rust (and his urge to puke) as he tried to open the lock.

"…Therion?" Tressa whispered after a few moments of the thief cursing the lock.

"What?" He grunted.

"I think we're being watched."

Looking up from the lock, Therion scanned the walls of the clearing. He couldn't make out anything in amongst the shadows, but he certainly felt the lingering presence of eyes watching their every move. A tingle went down his spine at the thought of being caught unawares by something lurking in the shadows. "Can you see it?"

"No." Tressa shook her head, her hand on her lance. "Can you?"

"No." He turned his attention back to the lock with new found purpose. "Cover me."

"Right."

With every second, the threat of _something_ in the shadows grew until the tension in the room became all-consuming. Sweat beaded Therion's brow and Tressa was continuously twirling her lance in her hand in anticipation and fear. The wait was almost insufferable.

Finally, the lock popped open and Therion let out an explosive breath. "Finally!"

"Well? What is it?" Tressa eagerly leant over him to look into the chest as he fished out the 'treasure'.

Hold it up into the light, they both frowned.

"Is that it?" Tressa asked.

"Looks that way." Therion rummaged around in the bottom of the chest, checking to see if he'd missed anything. The shadowy threat collectively held their breath.

"It's just another bone, though!" The merchant exclaimed as she took it from Therion to get a better look. It _was_ just another bone, but it was about three times the length of any human bone and had been dyed gold at some point in its life, though it was fading and chipping in places now. At one end, a series of long, bright feathers had been braided together and tied to the bone with what looked like animal fur. "I doubt even the newest merchant in Grandport would pay more than 100 leaves for it!"

Therion's head suddenly snapped upwards, a hand immediately on his dagger. The threat in the shadows had moved. "Tressa, get behind me. Now."

She didn't question, she just pushed the bone into her backpack and pulled out her lance.

Seeing their 'treasure' disappear into the merchant's backpack was enough to force the monsters out from the shadows and into the light. Accompanied by the grating sounds of bones rubbing together, scores of animated skeletons approached them slowly, weapons in their hands and various human clothes decorating their bones. Some wore hats, others coats; some wielded swords, others bows.

However, there was one skeleton that seemed to command more authority than all the rest. Taller than even Olberic, the monster limped towards them with one leg about twice the size of the other. Behind it, it dragged a broadsword taller than Therion that seemed to help it keep its balance. Worse than the fact that it was carrying a broadsword was the fact that it had three other arms with three other weapons. One held a rusting lance; another gripped a double edged axe; and the fourth held a sharp looking dagger. A deep red cape was secured to its shoulders and its skull was covered in feathers.

It let out a deafening screech. The other skeletons copied it.

"Fu…" Therion glanced at Tressa's pale face. "…n."

Tressa muttered the harsher word he'd been thinking of with conviction. "Not fun."

He couldn't argue with that. "We can't fight them off, there's too many."

"So we run?" Tressa asked incredulously as the skeletons lumbered towards the pair, the screeching of their bones and war cries echoing throughout the cave. "Their moving slow now, but I bet they'll easily catch up!"

"Not if we get a head start." Therion started to work a spell in his hand. "Throw a tornado into this and it should hold them back long enough for us to make a run for it."

"Got it." Tressa also started to work a spell. "Just say when."

He waited until the skeletons were within stabbing distance before turning to Tressa with a shout. "NOW!"

With a blaze of wild fire and a spire of fortuitous wind, the two created a firey tornado that stopped the monsters in their tracks as they made a run for it. Just as Tressa had predicted, as soon as the fire burnt down, the skeletons also made a run for it, moving just as fast as they were - if not faster.

"What if they don't stop chasing us when we get out of the cave?!" Tressa shouted at Therion, her bow low and loaded.

"Then we might have to drop the bone!" He shouted back in reply, knowing it was the only reason why they were still chasing them. "Monsters that live in caves don't tend to like sunlight, we should be fine!"

"You sure?!"

"Probably!" Therion glanced behind him to check just how far behind them the monsters were. The sight of the four handed brute limping right behind them almost sent him stumbling. It raised its broadsword to strike. "Tressa, watch out!"

Therion launched himself into the merchant without thinking, sending them both rolling out of the broadsword's path and down to the streamside. Tressa yelped in surprise as the sword came down just inches from where she'd been standing and knocked Therion's dagger from his hand as it cut into his knuckles. The thief screamed in agony as Tressa launched an arrow from her bow with impeccable accuracy.

With nary a sound, it flew from her position on the floor into the centre of the beast's skull – piercing it through. The beast let out a wail as it fell to its knees before beginning its slow topple onto its face where Tressa and Therion were kneeling. With reflexes that could have rivalled Linde's, Tressa grabbed Therion and pulled the two of them into deep end of the fast-flowing stream that she'd planted the 'gold' in earlier, letting the current carry them away from the screaming skeletons.

"You alright?" She asked the thief as soon as they were out of arrow range.

"I've been better." He held up his bleeding hand for her to see. Each of his knuckles had been neatly sliced open and were bleeding rather impressively – though it might've looked worse because of the water. " _And_ I lost my dagger."

"Yeah, but I got you a better one!" Tressa pulled the dagger the skeleton had been holding from the bottom of her backpack and showed it to him as the current carried them out of the cave.

"How did you-"

"Waterfall!" She cut him off as they approached the waterfall that marked the exit of the cave and the entry back into the Riverland's valleys.

Following the current, they fell into the surprisingly deep pool beneath the waterfall together before swimming to the bank on the other side of the river. At least, if the skeletons did follow them out of the cave, there'd be a river wider than bow range between them.

Pulling themselves out of the water, they lay next to each other on the river bank and laughed as the sun warmed their soaking bodies. Therion glanced over at the girl who had somehow managed to swim and pull herself out of a river with a giant backpack weighing her down – she hadn't even lost her hat.

With a smile, she handed him the skeleton's dagger. "Since we can't split the bone, you can take that as payment until I sell it."

Looking over the surprisingly well-made dagger in interest, Therion asked, "Are you sure you want to sell it? I doubt it'll go for much."

"Perhaps not, but what else can I use it for?"

"Well, it'll make a great story." He lamely suggested. "People aren't exactly going to believe you escaped a horde of skeletons unless you have proof."

"True." She pulled the bone out of her bag and looked it over in interest. "And it would certainly look interesting on my mantle back home… Would you be alright with me not selling it? You won't get any profit for babysitting me."

The thief smiled at her and sheathed his new dagger. "I'll live. …I would like some compensation for the cost of treating my cut, though."

"Alfyn will heal you for free, you know."

"Yes, but the sheer amount of teasing I'm going to have to endure because I got hurt and you didn't requires some kind of compensation, don't you think?"

"I stole you a dagger, didn't I?"

"I'm talking _monetary_ compensation, Tressa."

She scowled. "I guess I could spot you 500 leaves…"

"Nothing less than 2000."

They haggled for a bit on that riverside, more for the fun of it than for Therion's 'compensation'. In truth, he didn't want or need anything from Tressa. Although he would've liked to find some treasure of his own in the cave, the story and experience was more than enough for him.

Never again would he argue his way out of escorting Tressa on a treasure hunting mission. In fact, he'd probably be the first to volunteer… After he argued that she didn't need anyone to watch over her.


	29. Professor Albright's Type

_As Therese watches her beloved Professor leave her behind, she realises why he'll never love her the way she wants him to. Contains one incident of stronger language than that in game._

* * *

Professor Albright's Type

 _"Therese! I had no idea you felt that way about me. And, all this time, I had been denying my own feelings, telling myself it was inappropriate to feel that way about a student, instead of just confessing to you too! …Because, I do love you, Therese."_

…That's what she _thought_ Professor Albright would say when he found out that she'd been the one to get him in trouble with the Headmaster. Instead, he'd thought it was just because he didn't spend as much time one on one with her as he did with Princess Mary.

On the one hand, she was excited to spend more one on one time with the Professor; perhaps she'd be able to make him see how she felt for him, perhaps she could make him feel the same way… On the other, it was her fault that he was being forced to take a sabbatical from work.

And it wasn't exactly fun to watch her favourite teacher pack his bags and head off with three other travellers.

One of them was a thief, the mark about his wrist giving him away as a pretty foolish one at that. Another was a dancer, gorgeous and deadly if that dagger at her thigh was anything to go by – Therese saw her as competition for Professor Albright's heart. And the final was a warrior from former Hornburg, someone Cyrus had taken to immediately, if only from a professional curiosity stand point.

She hated them all. They were taking her Professor away from her.

But, the person she hated the most was herself. It was her fault, not any of theirs. In fact, she should've been glad that Cyrus had found a group to travel with, there was less chance of him dying if he was protected by others.

Still, her heart ached with regret and guilt all the same as they said their goodbyes.

"Will, will I ever see you again?" Therese asked in a tiny voice, all too conscious of the staring dancer and thief at the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't see why not," the Professor winked as he straightened his cloak. "Provided we both live."

And with that, he turned and made his ways down the academy stairs to his new friends and travelling companions. With that, he'd turned his back on the student who loved him and towards people who had no idea just how special he was.

She kept her chin held high and tears at bay as she watched Cyrus and the warrior discuss where they would travel first. Therese couldn't let them know how much this was destroying her, how much it was crushing her spirit. Instead, she focused on the other two set to travel with him and watched as they engaged in a game of rock-paper-scissors.

The thief won after three draws and stood to the side to let his dancer friend up the stairs again. Therese could only gape as she watched the dancer approach.

"Therese, is it?" She asked pointedly, a scowl contorting her features.

"Y-Yes?"

"I think there's something you need to know about your beloved Professor…"

"Oh?" Curiosity got the better of her. Just who did this dancer think she was, thinking she knew the Professor better than his own students?

"He's never going to love you the way you want him to. Best give up on that dream."

It took all her self-control to not snap at the dancer for that remark. What right did some common Sunland's whore have to speak that way to a Noble-born daughter? What could this dancer possibly know about Professor Albright? She'd known him two hours, for Gods' sake!

Still, she managed to grate out a somewhat respectful "Is that so?" from between gritted teeth.

The dancer had the audacity to look at her with sorrow in her eyes then, a profound respect and understanding of what it's like to love someone who might never love you back behind the pity that marred her beautiful eyes. In what had to have been the quietest, most reluctant to speak voice known to mankind, the dancer told her the truth about her Professor.

"He's a book fucker, Therese."

And with that, she made her way back down the stairs to her thieving friend, leaving Therese to gawk at her inappropriate language and insinuations.

Professor Albright was an upstanding member of Atlasdam's society, a good man and a better teacher with more female suitors than anyone dared count. There was no way he could be so oblivious.

And yet, as she watched him laugh with the warrior, reach a hand up to hold his shoulder, she understood the truth.

Both she and the dancer had been wrong.

Professor Albright's type was something completely different.


	30. Tale of Betrayal

_I wanted to try something a little different with this chapter and I'd really appreciate any feedback on it. I quite enjoyed writing this and there's definitely more stories with this kind of 'storyteller' quality to come, though they've got more of a story to tell than this one._

 _Thanks for reading I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _There aren't many who can claim they've never been betrayed._

* * *

Tale of Betrayal

Everyone's been pricked by betrayal's merciless thorn. A trust betrayed here, a heart broken there; one should consider themselves luckier than most if they've made it this far in life without having their trust tested, their heart broken – there aren't many who can claim such innocence.

Tressa Colzione can't even claim that innocence anymore. The sting she's felt might be small in comparison to that of her companions, however even she has had her trust tested. But she's still young. She dusts herself off and saves the life of one who broke her trust, the one who taught her his trade only to take her custom and earnings for himself.

She smiles, she laughs, she thinks it's all an adventure, a learning curve to being an adult in this forsaken world.

Ophilia Clement does the same. Her heart heavy with the knowledge that her foster father has died, she leaves herself open for attack by the one person she's trusted beyond all others. Yet she carries on, her head held high and heart filled with love and compassion, compassion enough to save her sister from herself. To save everyone from the monster she might've become.

Betraying Ophilia's trust only made her love others more. She continues to open her heart for all to take a piece of, so they might continue to trust one another, so they might continue to find love in a world that's so intent on taking it away.

Alfyn Greengrass, too, felt the sting of betrayal during his short journey. The first was short and sharp, fixed easily by a prick of a different thorn. No damage was done to his overly trusting ways, he was still the same apothecary he'd always been.

The second… was a lot harder to overcome. To have someone you've cared for suddenly turn and stab you in the back = after everything you did to make them well, to keep them on their feet… To have to kill someone you thought a friend… It broke an unbreakable man.

So it took the complete physical and mental collapse of another man to get him back on the right track. With someone to fix, someone who deserved to live, Alfyn found new purpose. He found a reason to go on as he always had, trusting and ready to face any consequences that came his way from being a 'naïve' healer. His guards were higher now than ever before, but they certainly weren't as high as his thieving friend's.

Therion. The poor thief experienced more betrayal and pain than anyone should ever have to bear. Left for dead by a man he called partner; forced to face him again and relive all that pain in his journey to remove that damned bangle from his wrist… It's nothing short of a miracle that he continues to live and walk Orsterra's beaten paths.

It's another thing entirely to see him believing in trusting others again. When one has walls that high, to break them takes someone truly special – someone who understands what it's like to have your trust broken everytime you offer it to someone. Cordelia Ravus, wise beyond her years, offered a thief peace of mind. Cordelia Ravus gave him the chance to live again, a chance to start over as a new, trusting person.

He certainly took half off what she offered him. Saying his thanks, he took off into the wind again, letting is walls crumble and his trust in others build – though, at his core, he'd still the same thief he'd always been.

Primrose Azelhart's experience with betrayal is as tragic as they come. Broken, battered, abused; the dancer has fallen farther than most. But she kept her head high, her eyes on the prize: the man who killed her father at the end of her dagger. She endured it all knowing she'd have her day, knowing she'd see crow dead at her feet.

So how horrible must it have been to find out the man she longed to kill was her childhood love! Oh, how he toyed at her stings, broke her further and further until ever last fibre of her soul longed to die, to escape this pain that her life had become. Simeon broke her, he set everything in motion a decade ago for what has to have been the longest waiting betrayal of their group.

Yet, Primrose came out the other side alive. Not well, perhaps. No, not even happy. But she lived, her purpose lost, her love dead, her trust, spirit and heart torn to pieces. But she keeps her head held high, she keeps dancing.

She will not let herself be beaten.

By comparison, H'aanit the huntress has experienced no betrayal. In truth, she really hasn't got any experience in the area, though she's far from sheltered and unaware of the pain it causes her dear friends. Because she too has had her trust broken. Time and again.

Though, she knows her Master means her no ill, he means to cause her no harm. Not that that stops him from wandering away from the village to spend a few nights gambling in Victors Hollow. Not that that stops him from doing things he knows will cause the huntress to worry about him. No, it is not the same kind of conscious betrayal and breaking of trust. It's done unintentionally in the knowledge that all will be forgiven… after a few nights without supper and a lot of icy scowls.

Cyrus Albright experienced the betrayal of his colleagues, the very academy he taught at rebelling against him because of the lies of a jealous student. But he holds no grudges, not to anyone. One might even think he hasn't even noticed that he's been betrayed, had his trust broken. And one would be right.

Barring the time Lucia pushed him into Yvon's home and into that trap, Cyrus can honestly say he doesn't think he's been betrayed – not by anyone. He thinks only that the people who betrayed him were acting in what they thought was their best interest, he holds no grudges. Not even against those who tried to kill him.

And then there's Sir Olberic Eisenburg. It only took the betrayal of one to destroy everything he held dear. In one sword swipe, Erhardt had taken Olberic's King, Kingdom and trust. For eight years, the knight lived his life a purposeless sword, longing, ever longing for the chance to feel like a knight again.

Then he got to duel Erhardt again. Then he got to forgive him and put all that resentment and broken trust behind him. The way of the knight is a simple one, one that allows forgiveness when others would find none. So, Olberic moves on, his pain and broken trust gone, but not totally forgotten.

The eight will never truly forget that pain of having their trust broken for the first time, that tear in something that had once been so innocent. Yet they move forwards, never looking back on the bad times. They laugh together over tankards of mead and through silly games, their guards down and spirits ever high.

They have each other and the knowledge that those who have also felt the sting will never hurt another.

And so they travel onwards to their next adventure together, their often broken hearts at ease and their heads held high.


	31. Trapped

_Just a couple of announcementy things before this chapter:_

 _Firstly, thanks to everyone for reviewing, favouriting and just reading this story. I know I say it a lot but I really do appreciate all of you!_

 _Secondly, I just wanted to let anyone who has requested or suggested a story of/to me - even if it was a long time ago now - to know that I'm working on them. My current plan/schedule/notebook full of titles runs out at the end of April now, so apologies again if it takes a while for them to appear._

 _Thirdly (nearly there!), I wanted to let you all know that next week's chapters are going to be a little different. Since it's Valentines week, I - oh so foolishly - decided to write a Valentiney story for every day of the week, from Saturday to Saturday. That's 8 stories. I only finished those stories yesterday and Gods do I regret setting myself that challenge. However, they're much longer chapters than usual - average of about 3000 words - and I truly love how they've come out. I'll talk more about them next week, but I just wanted to let you know what's coming up!_

 _And finally, todays story's a tragedy - and a bit of a different one at that. The make up chapter will be posted Tuesday evening (UK) because I'm working away again on Wednesday. It's going to be a poker night with all the travelers and was SO much fun to write!_

 _Anyway, thanks for reading! Enjoy(?) today's chapter._

* * *

 _Tragedy: What if Therese hadn't been there to save Cyrus from Yvon's pit?_

* * *

Trapped

"If you think I'll give up without a fight, you don't know me nearly well enough."

About half an hour after Yvon and Lucia had trapped him in this tiny cell, Cyrus was beginning to think he didn't know himself as well as he thought.

It hadn't taken him more than a minute to determine that there was no way to climb the walls and the various littered bones and skeletons were a fair indication that Yvon meant to leave him to stave as he'd said. After a few more minutes study, Cyrus had determined that the walls were decades old but sturdy enough that he wouldn't be able to break them. And, the complete and utter lack of light in the room gave him clear insight into how air-tight the walls and trapdoor were.

So, after his first five minutes of scrutiny, Cyrus was able to deduce that he'd asphyxiate long before he'd stave.

Then came almost a half hour of testing the integrity of the cell with his tomes.

To keep an eye on the oxygen levels in this tiny room, Cyrus lit his lantern and left the candle door open. If his morbid hypothesis was correct, the flame would be staved for oxygen long before it ran out of wax. He certainly didn't like how small the flame was as soon as he lit it.

There was no time to waste.

Taking off his cloak and pulling out his canteen of water, he set to work feeling around the walls for cracks in the mortar. There were fewer than he liked, and they were all rather small. Still, he filled them all with water and froze them, hoping that his theory of freeze-thaw would work for him again here.

Only one cracked the mortar, just barely enough for him to thrust the butt of his staff into.

There was sweat at his brow, his hair was matted to his neck and he was too hot in his shirt and waistcoat. The flame bobbing on the candle wick was far too small and his chest was starting to feel tight.

 _Remain calm,_ he reminded himself as he tightened his ponytail, _More people die from fretting about lack of oxygen than actually lacking oxygen._

He took his waistcoat off all the same as he turned his attention to the trapdoor. He couldn't give in.

Wedging his staff into the crack he'd made in the mortar, Cyrus relit the candle, hoping to see the flame bounce back up. It did not.

With a determined sigh and lightning in his hand, Cyrus launched himself onto his staff jumping from it to the opposite wall and gripping onto anything he could for dear life as he flung his lightning at the trapdoor with all his strength before launching himself into what he hoped to be an exit.

But the lightning bounced off the trapdoor and, after a moment of scrambling, Cyrus fell ten feet back onto the hard floor. His entire body ached and shuddered, but he hadn't broken a bone.

The candle grew dimmer. Cyrus' fever grew.

It'd only been half an hour and he was already giving up. There was no way out of this room.

"Yvon!" He shouted. For the sake of getting out of this place, he'd play any of the Headmaster's games. "Headmaster! Lucia! I would like to reconsider my answer!"

But there was no one there to hear him – they were already long gone.

"YVON!" Cyrus shouted again, screaming at the roof of his cell in panic.

Panic.

Cyrus didn't panic. It wasn't rational.

Then again, he'd never been trapped ten-feet under before. He'd never been trapped in a near airtight cell before.

"YVON!" He was wasting oxygen, screaming uselessly like this. The candle was just barely lighting the cell at this point, the farthest corner from it was already impossible to see.

 _This is it, then._ Cyrus sat down and shrugged his waistcoat back on before draping his cloak hood over his head. Cold. Why was he suddenly so cold?

Pulling his knees close to his chest, the scholar sat with his back against the wall to the left of his lantern. He'd pass out soon and morbid curiosity wanted to see if it would be before or after the candle went out.

As soon as he passed out, his brain would start being deprived of oxygen. It'd take less than a minute for that damage to become permanent and he'd be beyond resuscitation in under six.

This was not how he wanted to go. This was not how he'd thought he'd die.

When he was younger, he's thought old age would take him. As a teen, his oblivious nature put him in enough dangerous situations for him to start to think that his death would come as a result of an accident or natural disaster taking him while he was reading a book. In his twenties he'd started to think that some accident in the field would be his downfall.

And when he'd set out on this journey, he'd become certain that he'd fall victim to some dark magic summoned from the far reaches of Hell.

Never had he suspected it would come for him in a dark, oxygen deprived cell in his Headmaster's childhood home.

Cyrus tilted his head back against the wall. The candle's flame barely illuminated the left side of his body now. _Not long,_ he thought, his vision blurring and eyelids starting to droop.

"Curse you, Yvon." He muttered, his voice a shadow of how rich it had once been. "Curse you, Lucia. To the farthest reaches of Hell."

It was getting… Dark. His chest was... so tight… "I'm sorry… Odette… My students…"

He couldn't… He couldn't _breathe_. His vision was so _blurry._ His eyes were… half closed.

Cyrus gasped.

The flame went out.


	32. Full House

_Deep in the darkened corner of a local tavern, eight travelers engage in a game of poker._

* * *

Full House

Over the course of her years as a dancer in the Sunlands, Primrose had witnessed more poker games than she dared to count.

Once, during her earlier days - before Helganish had thrust her into centre stage - she, Yusufa and the other girls had each been nominated to represent a poker player during a tournament. Though she'd repressed her memories of that night as deep into her mind as she could, she still remembered how the competitors had forgone chips and leaves in exchange for their girls losing their clothes if they lost the round. Primrose's overzealous player had cost her a lot of her dignity that night.

Still, she was sure the match set to be played by her friends tonight would be the game to make her forget all the rest.

Sat between Olberic – who was explaining the rules to the five playing travellers – and H'aanit – who had seen too many card games go awry to want to play herself – Primrose shuffled Cyrus' well-worn deck of cards as she scrutinised her friends.

They'd set themselves up in a slightly dingy corner of the local tavern after deciding to spend the night 'bonding' rather than planning where they'd travel to next. Therion had rattled a handful of dice around, suggesting they play a round tonight only to be shot down by everyone else – they'd seen him win far too many games of dice to want to wager their leaves against him. Then Cyrus had pulled his cards from the folds of his cloak as he casually explained a rather complicated sounding game before Therion resolutely snatched them from him with a single word, "Poker."

While they could've played without a nominated dealer, Primrose had eagerly stepped up to the bat as an impartial dealer rather than a player as Olberic began to explain the rules. Now, half an hour after they'd arrived, most of the group was half a drink deep and were each set with a collection of chips that Tressa had procured from her bottomless bag.

It was time for the game to begin.

"Aw shucks," Alfyn mumbled as he picked up the five cards Primrose had flicked to him from across the table. "I'm not sure I quite understood the rules, yer Lordship."

"Not to worry," Therion swooped in before the neutral Knight could, hovering over his shoulder with his own five cards hidden in one hand. "I can tell you what to do."

"Alfyn, no! Don't show him your cards!" Tressa shouted at him just a little too late. Therion was already sputtering in rage behind him.

"Good hand?" Cyrus asked lightly, wine glass at his lips. He took a sip. "I believe I'll fold."

"I think I will too." Ophilia chuckled into her hand as she daintily put her cards down on the table. "Tressa?"

"Yeah, I'm out." Therion was still sputtering next to Alfyn as she, too, put down her cards. "Therion?"

"Who gets dealt a flush in their first hand?!" He asked incredulously as he threw down his two pairs and an ace in dismay.

"Did I win?" Alfyn asked in a kind of naïve curiosity, his cards displayed for all to see in front of him. The five, seven, eight, ten and king of cups seemed to mock the rest of the players.

"That is a rather impressive hand…" Olberic turned to Primrose. "Are you sure you shuffled the deck?"

"Quite sure, Olberic." She took everyone's cards back with a raised eyebrow. "But you can cut the deck this time, if you'd like."

"So I won?" Alfyn asked again before he raised his flagon. "Yeah!"

"Letten us call that a practice round," H'aanit said delicately, sensing the angry tone in the room. Really, it was just Therion's seething, competitive rage putting a damper on the whole tavern. "Afore Therion combusts in anger."

"I think that might be for the best." Primrose smiled at the thief as Olberic cut the deck a few times. "Aces high." She dealt again. "Don't show your cards to anyone."

After about half an hour of play – about the time when the second round of drinks arrived – Primrose and her two observing friends had everyone's play styles and tells well established. Tressa was still young and over eager enough that her every emotion shone on her face; Alfyn had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but he was doing it very well; Ophilia's ever present smile made her hand impossible to read and – considering this was only her second poker game ever – she played incredibly well. Therion liked to think he was better than he was and his bluffing had cost him three quarters of his chips already; Cyrus, who clearly had the most experience of the lot, was too busy observing his fellow players to bother hiding his own emotions very well.

All in all, the three non-players concluded that it was way more fun to watch than it would've been to play against any of them.

"Methinks Therion will be outen within three hands." H'aanit observed quietly to Primrose as they watched him wager too many chips against Tressa's clearly great hand. Both Ophilia and Alfyn had had the sense to fold early while Cyrus watched the other two wager between themselves.

"Make that two hands," Primrose muttered as she watched Cyrus goad the thief further.

"If you're so sure of your hand, Therion," the scholar said, fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass – a sign he also had a good hand. "Why not wager more? Hells, why not go all in? You hardly have chips to lose at this point!"

"Nay, _this_ will be his last hand." Olberic observed quietly to the two ladies, idly scratching Linde's head as she rested it on his lap under the table.

Fuming, Therion pushed all his chips into the centre of the table with an angry eye on Cyrus. "All in."

"Very well." Primrose interrupted. "Show your cards."

"Check it! Three of a kind!" Tressa flipped over her hand, the seven of swords, cups and staves in a row.

"HAH!" Therion exclaimed, flipping his own over. The nine of coins, cups and swords were in a row. "Three nines!"

"Dammit!" Tressa slammed her fist down on the table in anger, making Linde growl. The merchant sunk low in her chair. "Sorry…"

"Worry not, my dear!" Cyrus said casually as he flipped his cards and finished his wine. "For I have a straight."

"Art thou sure?" H'aanit asked teasingly as she rubbed Linde's ears. Primrose rolled her eyes at H'aanit's insinuating tone.

"See for yourselves!"

H'aanit muttered something about still waiting for evidence as the rest of them looked at Cyrus' hand. Sure enough, the five and six of cups were placed next to the seven of coins, eight of swords and nine of staves.

The string of words Therion shouted at the straight don't bare repeating.

"The game claims it's first loser!" Olberic thundered over Therion's swears as Primrose started to gather everyone's cards. "Let us continue to the next round!"

No more than three hands later – about the same time as the barkeep brought them their next round – did Tressa fall out of the competition too.

Once he'd composed himself, Therion decided that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that Cyrus was the next one out. So, in deciding that, he'd shuffled his stool a little closer to Tressa and joined her 'team'. Since the merchant was already low on chips, Primrose hadn't seen any harm in letting the two pair up.

Especially after they lost half her remaining chips to the scholar in their first turn together.

"Not long left for Tressa," Primrose muttered into her tankard as the group looked at their newly dealt hands.

"Two more hands." Olberic agreed, Linde once again resting her head on his lap and purring.

Tressa and Therion started to giggle as Alfyn asked, "Aces are high, right?"

"Yes, Alfyn. Aces are still high." Primrose gave him a pitying smile. How he'd won enough chips to keep him only second to Cyrus was beyond her.

"This wilt be her lasten turn." H'aanit mumbled as she watched the merchant and thief confer. Almost every very time Alfyn had asked a seemingly stupid question, he'd won the round. And it seemed like only Tressa and Therion were forgetting that.

"I believe I'll fold." Cyrus pushed his cards face down in front of him. Based on his tells as he'd tried to read the others hands, the three spectators had gathered that he'd had a rather good hand – apparently he hadn't thought it good enough to take on Alfyn.

"May I see your cards?" Primrose asked as she took them back, showing them to the huntress and knight. Four fives and the seven of coins stared them in the face.

"Interesting…" Olberic mumbled as Ophilia also folded.

"It doesn't appear to be my night!" She chuckled as she rearranged her stack of chips. In truth, she was only a little behind Alfyn and had been playing far more sensibly than the others.

The cards she'd returned were four knights and the nine of coins.

H'aanit raised an eyebrow. "Wilt thou be folding too, Tressa?"

"Nah," with a glance at her poker partner, she pushed her remaining chips into the centre. "I'm all in!"

"Alfyn?" Olberic turned to the slightly confused looking lad. "You in?"

"Yeah?" Alfyn counted out enough chips to match Tressa's. "Do I show my cards now?"

"Let Tressa show us hers first." Primrose said, curious at why the girl would've gone all in when all signs indicated that she should've folded.

"Read 'em and weep!" She turned her cards over to reveal the eight, ten, knight, jack and queen of coins.

"A flush." Olberic observed in surprise.

"No, a _straight_ flush!" Tressa shook her head in certainty. "And of coins!"

"Tressa, you're missing the nine…" Ophilia said gently, knowing full well the nine had been in her hand.

"No, she's n…" Therion looked down at the cards as Tressa started to glare at him. He swore, again.

"You idiot!" She shrieked at him! "Now I've lost too!"

"We don't know that for certain!" Therion shouted back, bright red at his mistake. "Show us your cards, Alfyn!"

"Aw, shucks…" He held his cards closer to his chest. "I don't want to…"

"Thy cards, Alfyn." H'aanit gently insisted.

With a great sigh, Alfyn lay down four aces and the king of coins.

Tressa swore at the top of her lungs as Therion made a run for it. Moments later, Tressa was running after him.

"A strong set of hands…" Olberic observed quietly as Primrose collected them.

"Quite." She shuffled with ferocity. "Cut these for me again, would you?"

Within ten minutes, Tressa and Therion made their way back to the table with their tails between their legs.

"Welcome back, friends!" Cyrus greeted them jovially, his hand tightly gripping his fourth glass of wine – an indication that he had a bad hand.

"Shut up." Therion snapped.

"We're just here to watch you lose to a pair of novices. No offence, healers." Tressa sulked.

"None taken!" Alfyn grinned.

"I simply let the Flame guide me." Ophilia smiled.

"Isn't it infuriating?" Cyrus observed to Primrose as she shuffled the non-dealt cards.

"I'm not here to judge how people play." She mumbled, as curious as everyone was to see if the professor could win against them.

All three stacks of chips were of similar height again – it seemed as if the game was just beginning.

It took another hour for Cyrus' chips stack to start to dwindle. By now, the moon was high in the sky and Tressa was half asleep on her stool; Therion was slightly tipsy and passing rude comments every time the professor won back a handful of chips; Alfyn showed no sign of having learnt how to play the game and Ophilia was still smiling that gentle smile of hers; Cyrus was getting more and more hot under the collar, nearly six glasses of wine deep and showing no obvious signs of intoxication.

On the other side, Linde had pulled herself up onto Olberic's lap and rested her chin on his shoulder, purring gently as she slept in the knights arms; H'aanit was too busy watching the game to be jealous of her partner sleeping on someone else (and was secretly glad that Linde wasn't sleeping like that on her – it almost destroyed her back whenever she did); and Primrose was on her third tankard of ale, certain that this was the weirdest game of poker she'd ever been a part of.

Finally, the Professor reached his final hand.

His chips were low and everyone was starting to get tired and a little bored, but the tension in the room was still running high.

"I believe it's time to draw this to a close." Cyrus muttered, his fingers running up and down his wine glass in anticipation of a great hand. It didn't matter how good he thought his hand was when you could never be sure what the other two were hiding behind their smiles.

" _Finally!_ " Therion let out an explosive breath that woke Tressa up with a jump.

"What d'I miss?" She mumbled, stretching.

"This's Cyrus' last hand."

" _Finally!_ " Tressa said as explosively as Therion.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that…" Alfyn mumbled. "I'm not sure how good my hand is…"

"Nor am I…" Ophilia agreed, her smile wavering ever so slightly.

"Regardless, I'm all in on this one." Cyrus pushed the remainder of his chips into the centre of the table.

"Showen us thy cards, Professor." H'aanit requested.

"Low flush." He turned up the two, three, five, seven and eight of swords.

"Alfyn?" Olberic asked from around Linde.

"A full house, I think." Alfyn turned up three threes and a two fours.

"A low one, but a full house all the same." Primrose nodded to herself as Cyrus sighed – finally defeated. Across the table, Tressa and Therion were quietly cheering. "Ophilia."

"Also a low full house." She presented three twos and two fives.

"Who winnens this round?" H'aanit asked Olberic.

"Truthfully, I do not know." Olberic scratched Linde's head. "Primrose?"

"I believe it goes to Alfyn since he has the higher three of a kind." Primrose muttered, not sure herself. "But, why don't we call it a tie and go to bed?"

"That sounds good to me, my dear." Cyrus stretched, took his deck of cards back from Primrose and stood. Immediately, both Therion and Tressa were by his side telling him how he'd lost to the new comers just like they had. "Oh, will you both be quiet? You both lost to me."

"Good game, Alf!" Ophilia patted his shoulder as they, too, left the tavern.

"You too, Lia!" He pulled her in for a hug, laughing together. "It was fun! We should play again some time!"

"Fun indeed, but I'm never dealing for them again." Primrose muttered as she, H'aanit and Olberic – who was holding Linde – made their way out behind them.

"Agreed." Olberic nodded from around the purring leopard.

"Truly. Even Master woulde haven trouble dealing for our friends." H'aanit paused and rubbed her hands together. "Shalt the three of us playen one another sometime?"

"Indeed." "Oh, gods yes." Olberic and Primrose both agreed enthusiastically, setting the trio off into laughter.

It had been a long night, far too long a night really, but Primrose had enjoyed a poker match for the first time.

Making plans and arrangements for when the three of them could play privately, Primrose smiled to herself. If their ability to pick up on others tells was anything to go by, she'd be in for a hell'va match…

She could hardly wait.


	33. Forged on the Battlefield

_And so Valentines week begins..._

 _Just a couple of notes before gettting into the story:_

 _Unlike previous chapters, these next 8 all take place in the same 'universe'. Effectively, they all take place one after the other. They also might reach the upper limits of the T rating for some people - there's no actual sex in the stories, but a lot of implied._

 _Though these are all Valentines chapters, they aren't all romances - don't worry, none of the travelers die! Also, I went into these only shipping two of the pairs, the rest were either popular or intriguing to me. However, I came out of writing these with a couple of new ships and a lot of love for certain stories - I'll tell you which at the end of the week!_

 _Finally, there are some same sex pairings in these stories. I know some people don't like reading them, so I figured I'd mention that now. And, it's not Valentines day - it's Steorra's day. I know I had a reason for that but God know I don't remember what it was now. I think it had to do with star-crossed lovers and the Starseer..._

 _Anyway, enjoy the daily updates and let me know what you think of the stories!_

* * *

 _Love must be tested for some to know it is there._

* * *

Forged on the Battlefield

It's never easy to pick up where you left of. Especially when your blades had been at each other's throats the last time you spoke.

Still, knights and warriors were simple people – a duel should've been all that was needed to clear the air and make all well between Hornburg's knights. But then again, try though they might, the two had never been the most typical of knights.

After all, they'd been involved in a secret affair back in the day.

While Orsterra as a whole was becoming more accepting of people's relationship choices, women were still treated as property in some of the smaller villages and same sex relationships were still generally frowned upon. And relationships between warriors were completely taboo – at least they always had been in Hornburg.

So, back in their early twenties, the Olberic and Erhardt had had to do everything in their power to hide their drunken confessions and sober affair.

It hadn't been easy. In fact, more often than not, the two ended up in each other's arms after arguing about how they couldn't continue their affair. When the cold light of the morning filtered into their bunks and revealed all that had happened the night before, they'd vow to never see each other in that capacity again – only to end up back on one of their beds after a particularly harsh day in the practice yard.

They'd argue then kiss; duel then embrace – and somehow they managed to keep it from everyone, including the King.

Yet, they were still convinced that their relationship was nothing more than an affair, a fling to be forgotten when they eventually found a woman to settle down with. So, why was it then, that every time their fellow fighters found their way to the local brothel, Olberic and Erhardt would find their way to a silent bunk and the company of one another?

They'd claim it was because they didn't want to exploit the working women, they'd claim they were tired from a long days practice, they'd claim King Alfred needed bodyguards more than ever when the rest of his army was taking a night off… They'd used every excuse in the book before admitting that they had feelings for one another.

Time and again they'd end the day in each other's arms; year in and year out they'd make the same vow to be settled down with a woman by next Aelfric's day only to spend the holiday together. And still, they didn't see the feelings they had towards one another. And still, they thought their relationship only a fling waiting to be forgotten.

Then came the coup. Then came the first duel that Erhardt won.

So much went unsaid in the argument that came before the duel, so much that they should've told one another dusted under the rug as their swords clashed. For once, Olberic was more emotional than his partner – his unnecessary feelings getting in the way of his sword fighting ability. By the time Erhardt gained the upper hand, Olberic was already beaten and holding back tears – both for his fallen liege and his lost love.

It was the realisation that he considered Erhardt his beloved halfway through the battle that brought Olberic to his knee, head bowed and sword dropped from his trembling hand. Tears shone unshed, words died in the back of his throat and his every fibre longed to be held by his beloved's pale hands – an embrace to wash away the battle, just like always.

Instead, Erhardt watched his kneeling comrade closely, twisting his blade in his hand. He saw the unshed tears, the trembles and the broken, unspoken words; he saw it all and still thought his partner a threat. Hitting Olberic over the head with the flat of his sword, Erhardt ran out of Olberic's life.

For eight years, his memories of Erhardt were all he had.

Most nights he'd remember the coup and the duel, the blood and the betrayal. But there were rare nights, nights when storms raged through the Highlands and all one could hear was the wind and rain, when all Olberic could remember was the practice yard and the duels they'd fought with smiles on their faces and blushes on their cheeks. Then there were the rarer nights, the nights when all was still and quiet in the Highlands and the only noise one could hear was the beating of their heart. With only the beating of his heart for company during those quiet nights in Cobbleston, his heart brought back memories of the louder nights he'd spent with his beloved.

He'd remember the passion and heat, the sweat and the swears. He'd remember the silence of the barracks when all their peers were off at the brothels, the silence he and Erhardt liked to make each other break. He'd remember the panic as the first rays of the morning light filtered into their bunk, bathing their previous passion in a clinically detached light that never failed to make them embarrassed.

Memories of a time and place long, long gone would haunt him worse than his memories of the coup. Memories of Erhardt's smile haunted him more than than memories of that twisted sneer he'd made when killing the king.

But his memories of Erhardt were all he had. As much as he longed and wished to find the man again, he had no idea where to look and – in truth – no idea what he'd do or say when he did see him once again.

Then came the day he met Gaston and saved Philip. Then came the day that started the now sedentary hedge knight's journey across Orsterra to find what he'd lost – his purpose for wielding his blade.

Every step he took with his travelling companions and friends kept him from wondering what he'd do and say when he saw his partner again. Every conversation he made kept him from wondering how the blond man had aged, kept him from wondering if he wore a beard, if his jawline was still as sharp as it had been in their youth. Was Erhardt also purposeless? Did he also want to see Olberic again?

Only time would tell, and only conversations with his fellow travellers could keep him from wondering.

In Victor's Hollow, he learnt Erhardt's motives. In Victor's Hollow, Olberic started to forgive him for all he'd done, all the mistakes he'd made.

In Wellspring, Olberic learned of his change of heart. He learnt how his fellow knight now protected this village much like he protected his. In Wellspring, Olberic learnt that Erhardt still spoke of him, of the time they'd spent together as Hornburg's right and left hand.

In Wellspring, they met again. They fought back the threat to the village before having an honest conversation, one they should've had eight years ago. Erhardt opened up about his past for the first time and Olberic saw a crack in his now stoic facade, he saw a crack and glimpse back to the emotional youth he'd fallen for.

Fear that Erhardt no longer held feelings for him held Olberic back from admitting his own. Fear was what drove him to that duel, a duel that managed to wash away eight years worth of hate and resentment.

Between sword clashes, all they could hear was their fast beating of their hearts, their huffing breaths, their occasional battle screams… It was safe to say Olberic wasn't the only one remembering the old days – or rather, nights.

Oh, and the smile that Erhardt gave him when he yielded! A smile that his memories had almost forgotten, had marred until it was only a fraction as bright and radiant as it was now!

Olberic offered him his hand and brought him in for a simple, warrior's hug. He wanted to do more, wanted to admit more, but there was still much he had to do before he could offer Erhardt his heart once again.

So, the blue knight – with his seven travelling friends – made his way to Riverford, desperate to wipe the world clean of Werner's vile stain.

They only made it so far before Werner's men had them out numbered. Once upon a time, Olberic had been able to fight like an army of men, nowadays, he could barely fight like a score. Still, with gritted teeth, he fought on, ready to give his life for the Riverford rebellion.

He hadn't needed to. Once again, Erhardt had his back. Side by side, they fought as partners and friends, as a banner of red and blue for all to put their faith in.

With Erhardt's help, Olberic was finally able to beat back Werner. With Erhardt's help, Olberic was able to learn there was still a threat in the world, a threat localised to his home town.

Once they were finally alone together – while the rest of the town welcomed back Harald as their kind lord – Olberic told Erhardt of the Gate of Finis that apparently resided in Hornburg.

"I can't say I've heard mention of it, much less seen it." Erhardt admitted over a glass of Saintsbridge wine. "Werner never mentioned it back in the day either, though, I was hardly his most trusted advisor."

"Mayhap I should return to Hornburg and see if I can find this so called Gate myself," Olberic mused aloud, glad to have the opportunity to talk to his partner so casually again. "After I have helped my companions see their journeys to their ends, of course."

Erhardt smiled – not that radiant smile he'd flashed back in the Lizardman's cave, but a more subdued, peaceful smile. "I'm glad to see you with making friends, Olberic. I remember how opposed to friendship you were back in the day."

"We were knights, Erhardt, trust in one another was all we needed, not companionship."

"Your words lack conviction, friend," Erhardt smiled sadly into his glass. "Regardless, seeing you with all your young, attractive travelling companions only makes me assume you're going through a midlife crisis."

Olberic laughed.

"Perhaps you'd like me to join you in your travels," he looked him square in the eye. "So that we might have our midlife crises together."

"I would hardly call attempting to hold Orsterra in one piece a midlife crisis," Erhardt tilted his head to the side in disagreement. "However, I would certainly welcome the help."

Erhardt nodded and took a sip of his wine. There was something playing on his mind, a question hiding behind his lips that Olberic was desperate to answer. Just as he was about to ask, Harald came through the door and their alone time was broken.

The next morning, Erhardt joined them all on their journey – this time to Marsalim followed by Everhold for H'aanit and Primrose. At the gates of Wellspring, the two knights excused themselves from the group, promising to rejoin them in Everhold. They needed to let their new homes know they'd be gone for a while yet, but they would return.

In Wellspring, Olberic once again realised just how much of a celebrity his partner was, just how well liked he was. Erhardt had saved this village time and again and held a special place in all the villagers hearts as a result. It was his new home, its warriors his new brothers-in-arms and its people were now under his protection.

At least, that's how Olberic thought of Cobbleston, so he could only assume his partner felt the same about Wellspring.

As the pair made their way from the Sunlands to the Highlands, it became more and more clear that Erhardt hadn't returned to the Highlands since running out of Hornburg. Olberic had lived in amongst these mountains his entire life - he wasn't truly comfortable unless the wind was howling like a banshee outside his door - so entering into the rocky hills after a journey away had always been like a home coming for him. For Erhardt, it seemed to reignite memories he'd thought long forgotten. He mentioned this memory or that as they passed the mountain goats and Ratkin (who were smart enough not to challenge two knight) dens and made their way ever onwards.

Still, they avoided talking about certain memories they certainly both recalled, choosing to sleep in separate tents and inn rooms.

Finally, Olberic set foot on the steps that lead up to his home. Philip was waiting for him, a heavier sword in his hand than the one Olberic had left him with. With great smiles, he greeted all the villagers, offered them hugs and stories of his journey before introducing his partner. Philip immediately asked Erhardt if they could spar and Olberic was more than surprised to see the gentle smile the man gave the child as he took up a practice sword.

While Olberic was proficient with broadswords – and had taught Philip the way to fight when using a sword longer than you and twice your weight – Erhardt had always preferred a lighter blade, such as rapiers and sabres, meaning he taught Philip techniques that Olberic had long forgotten. It truly warmed the knight's heart to see his friend treat the boy with respect, complimenting his ability and assuring him he'd make a great knight one day.

They decided to spend the night in Cobbleston rather than setting up camp a few yards from the town. After seeing Erhardt to his inn room – he refused to stay in Olberic's house – Olberic returned to his home and started a fire.

It was one of those rare Highland nights when the winds died down and all sounds beyond your breathing and beating heart disappeared. One of those nights when Olberic could only remember the silence that befell the barracks when his fellow knights were at the brothel, the silence that he and Erhardt had liked to enjoy together.

They'd spent the last few days alone and still Olberic hadn't gotten up the nerve to talk about those nights. He'd yet to tell his beloved his feelings. Tonight would've been a good night to do it, but, if he was being honest with himself, Olberic couldn't bear to tell his partner his feelings only to find them one sided.

Instead, he spent the night listening to his own breathing remembering a simpler time when words meant little and passion was all the two men had.

Quite suddenly, a little after midnight, there was a knock at his door. With his thoughts leaping from impossible scenario to impossible scenario, Olberic put on a robe and opened his door.

Erhardt pushed Olberic into his home by the lapels of his robe, kicking the door shut behind him. As soon as the latch clicked shut, Erhardt's lips were on Olberic's, his hands around his waist and the robe that the knight had so hastily put on was just as hastily thrown to the floor.

It was a dream, there was no way this could possibly be real. His hands knotted in Erhardt's hair, Olberic could only assume he was lucid dreaming, remembering events that took place almost a decade ago and transposing them to right now. His heart was hammering, desperate to keep up with Erhardt's it seemed, as their embrace grew ever more passionate.

They were on Olberic's bed now, Erhardt sat on his lap as they continued making out, as the passion that had been such a permanent fixture of their twenties returned. The idea that he was lucid dreaming came to an abrupt end when Erhardt bit his partner's lip, drawing blood.

With the sudden realisation that he was awake, Olberic pushed Erhardt off of him and stood. Their stances were serious, ready to fight without a moment's hesitation. It was almost comical, considering they were both only half clothed, flushed bright red in embarrassment.

"What?!" Erhardt snapped in a sharp whisper.

Without thinking, without pausing, without doing anything other than adopting the same, sharp whisper, Olberic snapped back, "I love you!"

Erhardt just barely contained his laugh, his answering smile brighter than the moon, "I know, you oaf."

"You _know?!_ " Olberic asked incredulously. "I've never told you that before!"

"Oh, but you did, Olberic," Erhardt took a step towards him, hand outstretched like he was trying to befriend a stray dog. "Don't you remember your drunken confession?"

"I remember the morning after," Olberic scratched the back of his neck. "I remember you telling me that night had never happened… And you telling me the night had never happened the morning after every night we spent together."

Erhardt sighed and tilted his head to the side in resignation. "I did say that, didn't I? I was… Scared. Werner had given me a mission, a goal I would have done anything in my power to accomplish. You drunkenly telling me you loved me shook the very foundations I stood on..."

As Erhardt explained how Olberic drunkenly confessing had made him put off his revenge for a few years, Olberic began to remember all those nights in a new light. It had always been late, the blond had made his way to Olberic's bunk and, without any words, embraced him. There had never been any beforehand discussion, just embraces that turned to gentle kisses that had progressed to make out sessions and more.

"Erhardt, you-" Olberic started as he remembered interactions he'd long forgotten, as he finally remembered his drunken confession.

" _I love you, you blond ass!" He'd shouted at him halfway through a drunken argument, wine sloshing onto the floor from the bottle in his hand._

" _I love you too, you giant oaf!" Erhardt had shouted back, slightly less drunk than his partner, though he was also sloshing a large amount of wine of the floor._

 _The pair had stood still for a moment, processing what the other one had said before finding each other's arms and lips._

"I love you too." Erhardt smiled a small smile as he watched Olberic remember.

"Good Gods, we… we spent all that time lying and trying to convince ourselves we felt nothing..." Finally, he was realising just how unhealthy their 'relationship' had been. How many years they'd wasted.

"It wasn't the best." Erhardt gently agreed.

"Can we..." For the first time that night, Olberic looked Erhardt in the eye. "Can we start over?"

"That's all I ask." Erhardt finally took Olberic's hand.

They were older now, some would say wiser. They'd had their trust in one another tested and come out the other side still caring for and loving one another. But, at the end of the day, they were still fighters, the two greatest knights in the realm – words didn't come easy to them. So they communicated in ways only they could understand, by fighting and sharing smiles that just barely differed from the one before but carried a different meaning. It took a while, more than a while really, but in time they were able to communicate their emotions with words as well as actions.

But that night, as the weather once again turned sour and the silence was replaced by the unending howling of the Highland winds, they didn't discuss anything more. Instead, they found themselves once again in a night of passion – a gentler one, perhaps, than those that transpired in Hornburg's empty barracks, but a night of passion all the same. The morning didn't bring shame and embarrassment like it once had, it brought smiles and laughter, openness and honesty; feelings that Olberic thought long forgotten as he watched his beloved awaken in his arms once again.


	34. Scripted from the Start

_Not all of these stories are happy..._

* * *

 _For others, it only takes one Lover to remove the possibility of future love and passion._

* * *

Scripted from the Start

" _Little lady, why do you cry so?"_

It had been a simple question, but one she hadn't known how to answer – not then and certainly not now. With his blood on her hands, the Azelhart dagger in his breast, Primrose wept bitter, bitter tears for the man she'd once loved. The man who'd killed her father and, only a few weeks before, had tried to kill her.

"Oh, Primrose..." He chuckled with his last breaths, her dagger in his heart and his hand reaching up oh so leisurely to wipe away the bitter, inexplicable tears that rolled down her cheeks. "Why… Oh why… do you cry?"

She wept for Simeon, for the man he had once been, the man she'd once loved. She wept over what could've been, had he not been truly one of the most despicable creatures on the face of the earth.

After her almost death in Noblecourt, Primrose had been reluctant to continue her journey, putting it off travelling to Everhold until all her companions had seen their adventures through. With a heavy heart, she'd put off seeing Simeon again for as long as she could. For, in truth, she couldn't bear to face him again, to have all those memories of the two of them bombard her and threaten to still her blade at the most critical of moments.

There had been a few moments when she faltered, when her resolve had crumbled and she'd nearly given in to him. It was in those moments that she remembered who he'd once been when he played the role of gardener's apprentice and she played the role of the noble's daughter. It was those moment's that she'd recalled the love she'd once held for him, the time she'd spent listening to his songs and begging him to write her more.

"You hold no place in my heart any longer." She'd screamed it at him earlier through angry tears, now she murmured it under her tear choked breath as she watched his eyes cloud and blood run. "No longer..."

Yes, once upon a time, Simeon had held the biggest place in her heart. Like old novels noblewomen were so fond of, she pined for one of her servants and thought of how she'd remove herself from her family and linage if that's what it took to spend the rest of her life with him. In time, as she moved from place to place and thoughts of revenge consumed her very being, Primrose began to forget her first love as feelings for her second grew.

Now she wept for Yusufa. Her dear, beautiful dancing friend who'd died far, far too young.

Who'd died because of her.

On more than one occasion since that day in the Sunlands, Primrose had dreamt of Yusufa. Some nights held happy dreams, dreams of words she'd wished she'd said, of arms she'd wished she'd been held in. Most held nightmares; a blue beauty at the end of Primrose's dagger rather than Helganish's. Yusufa with Primrose's dagger in her breast, much like it was in Simeon's now.

"Do you really think… you have made it this far on… pure hatred alone?" Simeon asked in response to Primrose's mutterings. How he still breathed, let alone spoke, was beyond her. She'd almost died to a much lesser wound than a dagger to the heart - though it was certainly no less painful. "Do you- _really…_ think I would have- _waited…_ halfway across the continent for you… to watch my swansong… if I thought I no longer-had a grip on your heart?"

Primrose stared at him, almost uncomprehending, before looking at the stage before them for the first time.

"Yes, Ombre." Shannon, the woman portraying Primrose in the stage performance of Lady Azelhart's life, announced. "My answer is yes. I am so happy my love… My heart is free of all doubts. Let us never be apart again. Never again..."

 _Laying it on a bit thick,_ her sarcastic thought managed to break through her horror for just a moment before she stared at the dying playwright at her feet. Had he intended…?

He was chuckling, darkly, between ragged breaths. "I suggest you leave now… Before my men come to collect me… and find you crying here. I cannot protect you anymore… my dear."

" _Protect_ me?" Primrose whispered incredulously, wanting an answer from the crow this time.

But, as was ever the case when she wanted answers, no one replied. Simeon was finally dead and no one else knew she was there – the crowd was too busy cheering the 'magnificent' and 'believable' story to notice her. And now she need to get out of the theatre – and Everhold – before anyone noticed the leader of the Obsidians and writer of the play was dead.

Pulling the dagger from her former love's chest, Primrose fled the scene of her revenge.

* * *

Since her father died, Primrose had only ever had one goal – avenge him. Nothing got in her way; time nor space could stop her from completing her mission. Dignity fell to wayside when she realised that dancing and prostitution were the only chance she had to find those hooded men, even the death of her beloved friend couldn't stop her for long.

She kept dancing on, town to town. With a bewitching smile and sharp dagger, there weren't many things out of her reach.

Save only her father and Yusufa.

Forever gone, she would never be held by them again, she would never be able to show them who she had become. So, yes, when she'd met Simeon again, she couldn't help but be drawn to him – like the bees to the nectar – once again. A part of her longed for him, to be held by him.

A part of her longed to be held.

Hugs from her travelling companions were nice and all – sometimes they even managed to keep the darkness away for a little while – but they were not what she craved. She craved the familiar touch of someone who knew her, who truly understood who she was and what she'd gone through. Even Arianna couldn't truly understand what she'd been through – the two of them had never been that close.

Then there was another part of her, a part of her that got louder every day, that told her she couldn't be held. A part of her that – as much as she longed for the comfort and contact of another living person – would flinch when people even so much as grazed her with their elbow. It was this part of her that told her she was unlovable, that no one would ever care for her again. It told her she'd become a spinster, an old hag with no one to care for her.

And, as she knelt before her father's grave for the first time, she believed it.

Noblecourt could've been her town, any of its bachelors her husband, and she'd run away from it for what, petty revenge? She'd demeaned herself and sold her body for what, enough coin to buy her now dead friend a new pair of sandals for Bifelgan's day? For years, she'd spent whatever hours she could learning about horticulture and flowers to impress the young man who used to tend Azelhart's garden, to impress the man she'd loved and now killed.

" _My heart is free of all doubts."_ Simeon had written that line to spite her, the woman's who's closest ally was the doubt's that festered in her heart. The woman who'd never know a love as simple and pure as that she'd once held for him ever again.

He'd been right, he could no longer protect her. Not from the men in his organisation that wanted her dead, but from the pain of her own heart. The pain of losing her father, of watching her friend die for her, of killing her lover.

Pain was her closest companion, pain had taken up the space Simeon once held in her heart. Pain would be her partner this Steorra's day.


	35. Hunted Heart

_Sometimes love strikes the most oblivious of people in the most surprising of places._

* * *

Hunted Heart

"Why art we travelling toe Stillsnow, H'aanit?" Z'aanta asked after they beat back a pair of Hoary Bears. Her Master had never been a fan of the cold and was clearly struggling this far north. Still, he'd travelled to Stillsnow many a time in his youth to visit Susanna and he should've known better than to whine at his prentice.

"Thou needst tell Susanna that thou art alive." H'aanit told him again with a muffled sigh. "Then, we wilt journey to Hornburg to meeten my companions and saveth Kit."

"Doth thou not consider this Kit thine companion?" Z'aanta asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

H'aanit, ever serious, missed the teasing in her Master's tone and stared straight ahead as she thought – watching Linde and Hägen frolic in the snow. "Indeed, Kit ist a friend of mine, but no companion. I knowth him not as well ast those I travelled Orsterra with."

Z'aanta laughed. "I teaseth thee, H'aanit! Thou needst not explain thyself to me!"

H'aanit blushed. "Oh."

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder as they started up the cobbled, Stillsnow path, Z'aanta hugged her. "Loosen up, my girl! Thou needst not ben so serious."

"I see." H'aanit nodded, smiling at her Master's hug. Truly, it was nice to see him safe and back to his usual humour again.

With her Master, Linde and Hägen at her side, H'aanit returned to Stillsnow. The cold, ever snowing town seemed to appear out of a veil of white as she entered, her senses immediately bombarded with the smell of fresh food and drink, the sounds of children playing in the snow…

"It's her! The lady with the leopard!" One child's voice shouted louder than the others and soon both she and Linde were surrounded by what appeared to be all the children in town.

"Can we pet her?" "Can I give her this treat, please?" "How's she so tame?" Linde arched her back in fright as the children approached, a low growl coming from the back of her throat.

"Ben still, Linde," H'aanit put a reassuring hand on the back of her neck. "These children meanth thee no harm."

"Oh, did we scare her?" One of the children, the one who'd stroked Linde the first time H'aanit had visited the town, asked in worry. "We didn't mean to!"

All of the other children murmured in agreement and Linde began to relax her stance. She took a few steps towards the child who had reassured her and sniffed their outstretched hand before bopping her head into it. Soon, she was letting all the children stoke her and give her treats after H'aanit checked them all; it wasn't long before she was lying down and purring.

Behind them, Z'aanta laughed. "Hast thou madest some friends, Linde?"

She barked at him and sniffed towards Hägen, seeming to invite him to come and join her. The wolf gave quick glance towards his master to which Z'aanta nodded and gestured towards the children.

"Oh wow! A wolf!" "A dire wolf, so cool!" "A tame wolf!"

Soon, all the children had pet and fed both Linde and Hägen – whom were eating up their attention far quicker than their treats – and were sitting with the animals in the snow. It was about then that Alaic came to see what all the fuss was about.

"Oh, Mr Alaic's here!" One of the children shouted, as H'aanit looked up from her leopard to the man in surprise. When she was last in Victor's Hollow with her travelling friends, she'd taken the time to help him get Susanna's ingredients back from some thieves and had been rewarded with learning a little more about him and why he served Susanna. H'aanit had appreciated his honesty when he'd told her he'd been an assassin in Simeon's syndicate who'd been tasked with killing Susanna and had been more than surprised to learn that it was her Master who'd stopped him.

"Alaic!" Z'aanta called to the man who looked about as shocked to see him as Z'aanta was. "'Tis good to seen thee alive and well, lad!"

After a stunned moment of silence and wonderment, Alaic nodded his head to Z'aanta in respect and recognition. "Master Z'aanta. The mistress will be happy to see you alive and well. ...And you too, H'aanit."

"Let us not tarry any longer then," H'aanit nodded too, suspicious of Alaic's pause. "Sayest goodbye to thine friends, Linde."

Linde rose to her feet, shook off some snow – which made the children screech in delight – and gave them a bark of gratitude. Looking a little forlorn at his master, Hägen appeared to sigh as he rose and did the same.

"Bye!" The children all called to the hunters and their animals as they made their way to Susanna's house.

"Maken more jokes liketh that one and thou wilt feel less stiff, H'aanit."

"What joke dost thou speake of?" H'aanit asked her master in confusion as Alaic opened the door for them.

Before he could reply, Susanna rushed towards them. "Z'aanta, you sly old wolf! You're still alive after all!"

"'Twould taken more than Redeye to killeth me!" Z'aanta laughed as he hugged the woman he'd often considered his mother.

"H'aanit tells me it came rather close. I hope you thanked her for saving you." Susanna gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, quite." He turned around to face his prentice who was standing rather awkwardly in the doorway. Alaic had gone to sit on his bunk and H'aanit wasn't quite sure where she and Linde should've joined him. "Thanke thee, most valiant prentice and renowned huntress H'aanit, for defeatening Redeye, that foul beast, and savening me from mine stoney tomb."

H'aanit crossed her arms. "Now thanken Susanna for concocting the Herb-of-Grace potions I useth'd to stayen alive."

"So many people to thanke!" Z'aanta turned around to face Susanna again. "But, no matter. Thanke thee, all knowing and seeing Susanna, for concocting a potion that saveth'd my Prentice's life."

Susanna laughed and hugged both the hunters. "You're most welcome, my dears. Now, come on then, take a seat! I want hear the story of how you slew Redeye!"

"'Tis a gooden story, Susanna!" Z'aanta praised H'aanit as she took a seat at the table with the others.

"As good as the tale she told me of how she vanquished the Frostland Dragon?"

"Nay, even better!" Z'aanta turned to her and gave her an encouraging smile. "Go on then, H'aanit, tellen us the tale!"

"Ah..." She stumbled a little as she started, conscious that both Z'aanta and Susanna were staring at her. Alaic wasn't staring at her – he was sharpening his dagger – but he was just as clearly listening to her as the others were. "Very well..."

It didn't take her long to get into the swing of her story and she would certainly admit she was embellishing things a little too much. The King of Marsalim hadn't been quite so flowery with his language and the horde of monsters the Knight's Ardante had fought off so H'aanit could get to Redeye almost trebled in size. But the real embellishment didn't start until she started explaining how she'd fought Redeye with Tressa, Alfyn and Cyrus. Every spell was detailed in its entirety and every moment that Alfyn had to revive or heal one of the group brought a hushed gasp to Susanna's lips.

But it wasn't until she mentioned Redeye healing her team that Susanna spoke out in astonishment. "Redeye _healed_ you?"

"Indeed," H'aanit nodded, noticing Alaic watching her for the first time – there was something she found rather calming about his gaze. "We all thoughten it rather odd. Odd enough that we falteréd with our next attack…"

And so she continued her story, telling it right up until the moment that she'd met Z'aanta again outside of Stoneguard. It was then that Z'aanta took over and finished her story. A part of her felt a little cheated about that, but she was really rather glad to stop talking – the sound of her own voice was starting to grate on her a little.

"Where do you travel now?" Alaic asked once Z'aanta finished explaining to Susanna that she was the last person he needed to thank.

"Well, I wast rather lookening forward to taking a break!" He laughed with Susanna. "However, one of H'aanit's companions hast been kidnapped and taken to former Hornburg and she wanth to saven him."

"Needth, Master." H'aanit nodded to herself. "I needst saven Kit. ...And I told thee that I needst not thine help."

Susanna laughed again. "She's all grown up now, Z'aanta! You can't follow her into every hunt!"

"Quite." Z'aanta looked a little embarrassed. "Regardless, I woulde haten to see thee go all that way alone."

There was a sly look in Susanna's eye. "Perhaps she _does_ need a protector-"

"Nay, I am quite capable-" H'aanit interrupted.

"-Would you like to go with her, Alaic?"

" _Me?"_ Alaic asked in high-pitched surprise, a bright blush on his cheeks as he stared at his mistress. Clearing his throat, he shook his head. "I cannot leave you alone, m'lady. Who would protect you from those who wish for your prophecy?"

"I coulde don it." Z'aanta shrugged, a similar sly look in his eye. "I protected Lady Susanna for many a year before thou camen along, Alaic. 'Twould be preferable to travelling halfen way 'cross Orsterra."

Alaic looked taken aback, clearly trying to come up with some excuse that would get him out of travelling with H'aanit. "All the same, I was no match for H'aanit in combat. Do you really think _I_ would be the one protecting _her_? I'd only slow her down!"

"Think of it as an opportunity to grow stronger, my boy!" Susanna insisted.

He sputtered, trying to think of another argument as H'aanit watched him with hurt curiosity. She thought him a friend, did he not think the same? Did he truly not want to travel with her?

"Dost thou truly finde the idea of travelling withen me so detestable?" H'aanit – as oblivious as ever – asked.

"I..." Alaic stopped and stared at her, his eyes wide and cheeks flush. Finally, he looked away. "I don't think travelling with you would be horrible, only that-"

"Then it's settled." Susanna interrupted, clapping her hands. "Let's get a good night's sleep and you two can set out in the morning."

"'Tis only supper time." H'aanit pointed out uselessly.

"To the inn with you, my dear!" Susanna started to push her out the door. "Sleep well! I'll send Alaic to wake you in the morning!"

And so, with no more discussion, H'aanit, Z'aanta and their beasts were sent to the inn for the night. Supper at the inn was quiet – insomuch as any time spent with Z'aanta can be quiet – and H'aanit spent a lot of time thinking to herself, wondering what travelling halfway across the world with Alaic would be like.

"Alaic's a nicen lad, nay?" Z'aanta said suddenly, breaking H'aanit from her thoughts as she realised he expected an answer.

"Quite. He wast nicen enough to showen me the way to the Whitewood and even waiten'd for me to return." H'aanit chuckled to herself as she remembered seeing him there after slaying the dragon. "I only worry that he mighten not be the beste travelling companion."

"Whyst not?" Z'aanta asked, swilling his ale in his tankard. "He'st a formidable fighter and hast the kind of dour expression that maken most thieves scarce."

"Indeed… But, he'st quite quiet."

"So art thou." Z'aanta pointed out.

H'aanit tilted her head to the side in concession to her Master. "I suppost so."

There was just something about travelling with Alaic that – after seeing him argue so fiercely about not joining her earlier – set her a little on edge. Still, it would only be until she rejoined her travelling companions in Hornburg, they could go their separate ways after then.

With worried thoughts running rampant in her mind, H'aanit retired to bed early and slept fitfully.

* * *

She woke to Alaic knocking on her door, Z'aanta already gone to protect Susanna. With a slight sigh, she dressed and opened the door, Linde ever at her side to start their journeying again.

"Good morning." She greeted the man with a nod as Linde butted her head against his leg.

"Morning." He nodded in response and cracked a smile at Linde as he rubbed her head. "Are you ready?"

"Indeed. I needst only grab breakfast-"

"Here." Alaic thrust a warm package at her before she could finish her sentence. Confused, she opened it and was immediately bombarded with the scent of fresh, honey glazed bread.

"A sweet cake?" She asked in surprise, tearing into the loaf as they made their way outside. The inside of the loaf was a warm, fluffy white with a shot of raspberry jam running through it. "Thanke thee."

"It's nothing."

H'aanit instinctively knew if the conversation stopped there, there'd be no more conversing that day. As Z'aanta had said, she wasn't the most chatty person, but she wanted Alaic to like her, she wanted to befriend him. So, putting on her best smile, she spoke again. "I thinken it not nothing. Sweet cakes art mine favourite food, I liken to maken them whenever I haveth the time. This cake ist fresh baked and delicious, so I thanke thee, most heartily."

Internally, H'aanit grimaced. There was no need for her to have spoken, no need for her to have tried to make conversation, yet she had and had achieved nothing from it. Alaic glanced over at her smiling face once and then resolutely turned his face forwards.

Silence was his reply.

Vowing to never speak again, H'aanit was just about to apologise to the man for her ramblings when he finally spoke, in far too quiet a voice. "Susanna told me you liked sweet cakes, so I thought I'd bake you some. Make you a peace offering."

" _Therest more?_ " H'aanit couldn't stop herself from asking as she fed the end to Linde.

With a smile, Alaic opened his travelling sack and showed her a collection of wrapped sweet cakes. "Raspberry, blueberry and blackcurrant. It's an old recipe that Susanna taught me."

"Thanke thee." H'aanit's eyes were wide with a kind of childish wonderment, her voice astonished that he'd do this for her.

"No problem." He closed his sack and they carried on out of Stillsnow and into wider Orsterra. "So… Weather's fair, huh?"

"Alaic," She smiled at him, realising they'd both struggle if they tried to fill the silence as they travelled. "I know thou only liken to speaketh when thou hast something to say. Thou needst not maketh conversation for conversation's sake with me. I am content with silence."

"Oh, I thought..." He trailed off. "Thanks."

And so they travelled to Hornburg in relative silence. Every now and then, H'aanit would mention something about this town they travelled through or that, she'd tell him about her companions and their stories when he'd ask. It became quite pleasant, and they soon got over their awkwardness and H'aanit's desire to fill the silence that she had apparently picked up from travelling with Tressa.

Finally, they reached the Highlands and Alaic started getting jittery and chatty. Suddenly he couldn't stand the silence they'd befriended and he strived to fill it with pointless words. It wasn't until they reached Everhold that H'aanit finally realised the source of his discomfort.

He'd fallen silent as soon as they started on the dusky path to the Obsidian's former stronghold, his hand ever at his dagger and eyes flickering every which way. It was embarrassing how long it took H'aanit to realise he was looking for Obsidian members, people quick to kill those who'd betrayed them.

"Thou needst not worry about the Obsidians," she said in an effort to calm him.

"What?"

"When last I came to Everhold, mine friend and companion, Primrose, slew their leader, Simeon." She smiled at him, trying to reassure him. "I haven been told the Obsidians havest since disbanded."

"Primrose was your dancing friend, was she not?" Alaic seemed to relax, or, at least, his eyes were now only looking at H'aanit.

"Yes."

Alaic laughed heartily. It was the first time she'd seen him do that, the first time she'd seen a true smile on his head as he threw it back… It was rather charming, actually.

"I'll have to thank Lady Azelhart when I see her," said he through giggles. "She's just taken a giant weight off my mind."

"Truly?"

"Truly." He flashed her a grin. "I'm no longer a wanted man."

There was something about the relief with which he said that that made H'aanit stop and stare. All of a sudden, his demeanour had changed from wary to relaxed, the hardened expression in his black eyes had relaxed into a smile with the rest of his often dour face and he seemed – all together – happier. Her response was to smile back, an honest and relaxed smile of her own. "I am glad."

The last leg of their journey to Hornburg was subtly different. They spoke more, for one, and Alaic seemed keen to tell her his stories; they smiled more, grins that weren't a usual part of their serious make ups creasing their faces more often than not; and they laughed a lot as they cracked rather poor jokes. They were innately serious, stoic people; jokes and smiles didn't come easy and often went over their heads. But, in the short span of time that was their journey between Everhold and Hornburg, they were all smiles and laughs.

Then they reached Hornburg and met up with H'aanit's friends. Ophilia and Alfyn were in a strategic conversation with Liana and Eliza. Liana had apparently come along to make up for the fact that she'd almost let the Dark God loose and Eliza had joined her because she hadn't wanted Liana to come alone and unprotected. Tressa and Therion were, as ever, sat together, quietly discussing how the Dragonstones might've been used to open the Gate of Finis. Cyrus and Primrose were sat together atop a boulder, 'listening' as Cyrus explained how _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ had cited Hornburg as a hot bed for demonic activity because of it's proximity to the Gate and Galdera. And, halfway up the slope into Hornburg itself, Olberic and Erhardt were stood, hand in hand, praying for their fallen comrades.

Upon seeing Primrose on the boulder, Alaic made a beeline for her before H'aanit could stop him. Instead, she simply followed him, worried about what Primrose would say when she found out H'aanit had told him she'd killed Simeon.

"Lady Primrose?" Alaic approached her and dropped a rather professional bow. "I am in your debt."

Primrose exchanged a confused look with Cyrus. "Why's that, Alaic?"

"Ever since I started serving Susanna, I've had to have one eye open at night, I've had to constantly watch my back. All because I betrayed the Obsidians and I knew Master Simeon would want revenge. H'aanit tells me, because of you, I don't have to be so careful anymore. Thank you, I am in your debt."

"I… see." Primrose looked incredibly uncomfortable as she listened to Alaic. Looking from him to H'aanit, her eyes turned devious and she jumped down from her perch. "Since I don't want to be in anyone's debt, I'm going to ask you to do something that wipes the slate clean, okay?"

Alaic nodded. "Name it."

She leaned in and whispered something into Alaic's ear that H'aanit couldn't hear but knew it involved her – they were both staring at her out the corner of their eyes, after all. As soon as the dancer leant back, Alaic's face was bright red and he was clearly flustered.

"I… I'll see what I can do..."

"Good lad." She patted his shoulder and raised her voice so everyone could hear her. "H'aanit's here now, let's go save Kit."

Everyone rose from where they were sat and grouped together, ready and eager to save their friend. As they all started to walk up the slope, H'aanit turned to Alaic.

"Thou needst not join us if thou wantst not." She said, somewhat scared of what they were about to face and worried about her friend getting hurt.

"I promised I'd see you get Kit back to safety and that's what I intend to do." Alaic nodded to himself, refusing to look H'aanit in the eye.

With a slight sigh, H'aanit conceded. "Very well. Sayest safe."

"And you."

* * *

The group watched as Lyblac spirited Kit away, as she warned them their was no turning back once they entered the Gate. Tense with worry for those they travelled with, everyone exchanged a glance but knew better than to request they separate. Instead, they stood tall and entered the Gate as a group of twelve (and a snow leopard) determined to see their friend safe.

As the Gate shut behind them, they were greeted by eight flames, eight people or creatures they'd killed between two levels. The bottom level showed the shifting, flaming figures of Simeon, Miguel, Darius and the Frostland Dragon; the top showed Mattias, Yvon, the Poison Tiger and Werner. All eight travellers exchanged glances.

They'd all been formidable foes, beings they'd need to kill, not wanted to. And now they needed to kill them again if they wanted to save Kit.

So, they split into groups of four: Alfyn, Ophilia, Eliza and Liana would take on Miguel and Mattias while Primrose, Cyrus, Tressa and Therion all re-fought their foes. Which left Olberic, Erhardt and Alaic with H'aanit and Linde as they re-battled the dragon and Werner.

They made their way to the dragon first, determination filling their spirits. It didn't take long for H'aanit to remember why fighting the dragon had cause her so much trouble. It's scales were impenetrable and it was all to eager to batter them back with the wind it whipped up with its wings. For a while, her arrows are all that could hit it.

Still, the two knights, former assassin and huntress fought the shadow valiantly… Until Alaic got knocked away in the wind.

"Alaic!" H'aanit screamed as she watched him disappear behind her and into the shadows. The ledge they were stood on had nothing underneath and if he'd fallen off…

"Find him!" Olberic shouted at H'aanit as he and Erhardt ran at the dragon again with their lances and swords.

With only a nod, H'aanit ordered Linde to keep fighting as she ran into the shadows looking for Alaic.

"Alaic?!" She called, desperately searching with her heart in her throat. "Alaic!"

If he'd fallen off… If she couldn't see him again...

Soon Alaic was shouting back. "H'aanit?! Help!"

Running in the direction of his voice, it took almost a full minute for H'aanit to find Alaic in the shadows… desperately gripping his dagger, the only thing that kept him from falling over the ledge. Or, rather, from being dragged off the ledge by the demons in the shadows.

Her heart almost stopped when she saw him. Without a second thought or hesitation, she pulled out her bow and shot – with pinpoint accuracy – the demons gripping him. Soon, Alaic was free from the demons' grips but was still clinging to his dagger for dear life.

They exchanged no words - just wide-eyed glances - H'aanit lent down, grabbed his hand and – possessed by a strength greater than her own – pulled him towards her with her entire being. He stumbled and struggled back onto the ledge, his breathing ragged and pulse rapid. But, Alaic stood before her. Alive. Not consumed by shadowy demons.

"H'aanit… I..." He breathed, clearly scared and trying to catch his breath as he gripped the dagger that had saved his life close to his chest.

Instead of responding, instead of chiding him for getting blown away and scaring her, H'aanit simply gripped his shoulders and looked straight into his face.

In their time travelling halfway across Orsterra together, she'd come to know that face rather well... At least, she thought she had. But as she looked at him in that moment, full of fear and adrenaline, she noticed the thin layer of stubble on his chin for the first time; the subtly different colours of his eyes – the left was a dark blue, the right a dark brown – and realised, all of a sudden, that they weren't the black she'd assumed they were. As she continued to desperately scan his face, she realised she was trying so hard to focus on the fact that he was there - that he hadn't slipped from her grasp - to stop herself from crying.

"H'aanit are you… Are you crying?" Alaic asked, reaching his daggerless hand up to wipe a rebellious tear from her cheek. Before he got there, she pulled him in for an awkward, bone crushing hug.

"Don't _ever_ scaren me like that again." She whispered into his ear, still reassuring herself he was actually there.

Alaic chuckled. "I promise."

Releasing her grip from around his shoulders, she instead put her hands on both sides of his face to stare at him again, still desperately trying reassure her fast beating heart that he was still alive. "H'aanit, you're hurting me. … And you're still crying."

Finally, she let go of him completely and turned her attention to wiping the tears from her face. "I wast scared."

"I noticed."

Still, H'aanit continued to stare at him. Something had changed in her when she'd seen him gripping that dagger, as he'd silently begged her to help him. It was as though something clicked into place, something she'd always known but still couldn't put her finger on. And, all of a sudden, all she wanted to do was reassure herself that he was real, that he was before her, that he was there and not a figment of her imagination. The only way she could think of doing that was by holding him.

And, it appeared, that Alaic was thinking the same. Hesitantly, he reached out his hand to to her own and held it tight, giving her a small smile. "Thank you."

Seeing him hold her hand like that suddenly solidified that thing – that emotion - that clicked within her and gave it a name. It explained Alaic's reactions before, why he'd been nervous to travel with her. That emotion had clicked in him long before it had in her and he'd been forced to bury it, pretend it wasn't there so he didn't make her uncomfortable.

All this time she'd been too oblivious to see it.

"What's wrong?" Alaic asked, noticing the confused, ashamed look on her face before suddenly blushing and let go of her hand. "Sorry."

"No." She grabbed his hand again and took a step towards him, a small, bright smile on her lips. Taking another step, she placed her lips on his, communicating with him in a language that came more natural to both of them – silence and actions.

They didn't stay like that for long – their friends needed their help fighting monsters after all – but long enough to communicate all that needed to be said. When they eventually broke apart, they laughed and apologised, gripping each other's hand tight.

Finally, they made their way back to the others hand in hand, back to the monsters they needed to fight before they could save Kit.

As soon as they got back, H'aanit would read the diary that told her Redeye had been Kit's father, she'd scream about it in anger before vowing to kill Lyblac by her own hand. She'd fight Werner like a one woman army – savage enough to make Linde cower in surprise – and be the first through the door to fight Galdera.

But, right now, as she and Alaic made their way back to Olberic, Erhardt and Linde, she was a woman in newfound love. A huntress twice as strong now that she had someone new to protect.


	36. All You Need Is

_Some chose to live a life without a lover's embrace._

* * *

All You Need Is…

A new book. That's what Cyrus planned to spend Steorra's day with.

After everything he'd been through with his travelling friends these past few months, he thought he rather deserved a day alone, studying away from everyone else in the library archives.

So, while the rest of his friends and colleges all took the day off to spend time with their lovers, Cyrus used the Master Key - the King had eagerly entrusted him with it after the scholar had revealed the former Headmaster's crimes and returned _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ after taking a trip to close the Gate of Finis - to open the empty library. It hadn't taken much help on Alfyn's part to convince Mercedes to close up the library and take the week off to visit Zeph in Clearbrook, but Cyrus would always feel indebted to the young man for affording him a week alone, undisturbed amongst the books.

It'd been five days since Mercedes had closed the library to the public and Cyrus had claimed it for himself, though he honestly had no idea where the time had gone. First he'd read a series of books detailing the rise and fall of Hornburg as a kingdom before finding himself in amongst the collection of books that embellished the lives of the lost Ventus Dynasty rather spectacularly – each member of the royal family had their own book dedicated to them – and the scholar had been rather surprised to learn that the line had apparently died after the last Prince, a man named Simeon, disappeared after slaying his bastard older brother. Once his week alone in the library was through, Cyrus planned to do some more thorough research into this lost prince…

It was already Steorra's day when Cyrus finally looked up from his tomes – five days after locking himself into solitude – and he truly had no idea how he could've been so oblivious to the passing of the days. Sure, he'd slept and eaten when the need had struck him, he'd even returned home to bathe once or twice, but the realisation that the beloved day had arrived struck him rather suddenly.

Initially, he panicked; he only had two more days to read and study in complete silence and solitude before Mercedes returned. Then he realised that, actually, he was getting a little lonesome and the company of his students might actually be rather welcome.

And that thought surprised him more than the realisation that he'd been reading for five days.

All his life, Cyrus had been a solitary, scholarly lad with more interest in his tomes than making and keeping friends. Though, it wasn't as though he was clueless nor without friends, in fact, he was rather well loved by his colleges and students, many of whom considered him a friend. It was simply a matter of him preferring the company of a books to people.

All that had rather drastically changed after he started his journey with the others around Orsterra. Though Primrose and Therion similarly preferred their own company and silence while Ophilia, Olberic and H'aanit didn't often speak without reason, it didn't take long for the six to realise that Alfyn and Tressa could speak enough for all of them. With time, the group managed to adjust themselves to each others ways and how much they spoke, but for a while there, Cyrus had been genuinely convinced there'd never be a time in his life when he'd know scholarly silence again.

Now he missed the noise. Or rather, he missed the banter and laughter that came with the noise.

Still, he'd be seeing them all in Noblecourt the day after Mercedes returned for a celebratory 'we beat the Dark God!' drink with their friends and partners. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder what they'd be up to today…

He knew Olberic and Erhardt would be together – they'd been practically joint at the hip when he met them again in Hornburg and the battle beyond the Gate hadn't changed that – and rather suspected that H'aanit and Alaic would be spending time together as well. The pair had surprised everyone when they'd walked out of Hornburg and away from the closed Gate hand in hand, only enough room for Linde between them. Though they'd never confessed that they were in a relationship, the whole group knew that Therion and Tressa would be spending Steorra's day together in the Coastlands. Elsewhere, Alfyn, Ophilia, Lianna and Eliza were spending their week in the Riverlands with Zeph and Mercedes – Cyrus had a rather hefty sum of leaves bet on the healers finally realising their feelings for one another today.

Then there was Primrose and Cyrus himself, both of whom had planned to spend the day alone. After everything Primrose had gone through this year, Cyrus could hardly blame her for wanting to spend the day alone, but he did worry for her. As oblivious to love as he may seem to others, the scholar had been all too keenly aware of the look on Primrose's face when she'd seen Simeon again in Noblecourt, that look of realisation that you still had feelings for someone even after years of trying to repress them.

It wasn't a look that Cyrus had ever worn, but he'd had many a woman – even the occasional man – give him that look over the course of his adulthood. And everytime it cropped up on a friend or college's face, his heart sank.

After seeing Odette again during the course of his journey, Cyrus started to remember a time in his life when the pair had been almost joint at the hip, a time in his life when those looks hadn't crossed peoples faces when they looked at him. He remembered Odette laughing in the former Headmaster's face when he'd asked if the scholarly pair were a couple.

Not once had the thought of entering a relationship crossed Cyrus' mind. He was a man of study and knowledge, not love and passion; it just wasn't a part of his make-up. And he was quite comfortable with that.

But there were days – infrequent and few and far between – when he couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to be in a relationship. Days when the thought of physical contact with another person brought butterflies to his stomach instead of the usual pit.

Steorra's day was always one of those days.

So, Cyrus would spend the day in study, usually studying Steorra, the myths surrounding her and the blessings of her day to keep those insistent butterflies at bay. After all, there was never any explanation for the sudden butterflies and certainly no logical reason for why they'd become more and more frequent since he'd started his journey with the others.

With one part of his mind ever drifting, wondering what his friends were doing, who they were with, Cyrus pulled down a well-worn copy of myths on the Gods and settled in for one more day of silent study before he'd have to set off to met Primrose and the others before her house in Noblecourt. He settled in for another day wondering about those butterflies and who they were for...


	37. Something More

_Some can miss true love being in front of them all along._

* * *

Something More

Steorra's day had never meant all that much to Ophilia.

She was a woman of the church, a woman for whom love had always been platonic; she'd not even known the actual myths or meaning of the day until she'd turned sixteen. Until then, she'd spent the day 'celebrating' with Lianna and Josef, the two people she truly loved. Though the trio had still celebrated the day the last three years, Josef had taken the time each year to remind them of the true meaning of the holiday. He'd also told them he'd support and love them unconditionally regardless of whomever else they chose to love.

It was the knowledge that her father would've approved of their relationship that Lianna had fully accepted and committed to her love for Eliza, the Knight Ardent who'd helped H'aanit defeat Redeye. With the certainty that Josef would have loved Eliza for loving Lianna, the cleric and knight walked everywhere hand in hand, never noticing the disapproving looks that some of the people in smaller villages gave them.

With a lover by her side, Lianna didn't fear her first Steorra's day without her father in quite the same way she had Aelfric's day. Instead, she was looking forward to spending a day with her beloved and only worried about how her sister would handle the day.

"I'll be fine, Anna!" Ophilia laughed at her worry again as she brewed them a pot of tea. It was the day before Steorra's day and the sisters had found themselves staying in Clearbrook with Alfyn, his friend Zeph and Zeph's partner Mercedes. While Zeph and Mercedes and Eliza and Lianna had date plans for the next two days – and they'd all be returning to the Flatlands after Steorra's day to reopen the Atlasdam library and meet their fellow travellers for celebratory drinks at the Azelhart Manse – both Alfyn and Ophilia were still single and hadn't made any plans other than to enjoy the day.

"Are you sure, Phili?" Lianna asked again, taking her tea and sitting at the small inn table. "You've never spent a Steorra's day alone."

"It'll be a little weird," she admitted, "But, I know I'll be fine. Besides, I don't want you to cancel plans with Eliza just because you're worried your sister's going to be lonely!"

"If you're sure..."

"I am." Ophilia nodded. "Now, show me what you got her!"

"It's not very exciting..." Lianna blushed as she pulled out a little ring box and showed her the contents. Inside was a simple silver band studded with amethysts, one larger than the others shining brightly in the centre.

"Wow..." Ophilia gasped. "It's beautiful!"

"The jeweller told me it's meant to keep darkness away… Plus, Eliza likes amethysts." Lianna laughed a slightly nervous little chuckle. "I hope she doesn't think it's tacky..."

"She'll love it, I'm sure." Ophilia gave her a bright grin. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go see her!"

"It's not Steorra's day yet, Phili." Liana pocketed the ring and stood up all the same.

"No, but I know you have plans today, so go have fun!" With a grin, she started to push her sister out of her inn room.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Certain. Go on, enjoy yourself!"

Just before she left the room, Lianna turned around and hugged her sister tight. The two had been through everything together, had seen almost every holiday together, so it did feel a bit wrong to not be spending Steorra's day with one another. But, they knew this day would come eventually - they were both adults now, after all.

Still, as soon as the door closed behind Lianna, Ophilia's face dropped. She'd be the first to admit that she was a little lonely and more than a little worried about how she was going to spend the next day. But, she'd recently made a pilgrimage to literal hell, she was sure she could survive Steorra's day alone.

* * *

"Knock, knock!" No more than an hour after her sister had left did Alfyn come knocking at her door. "You in there, Lia?"

"One moment!" Stretching out of her seat, Ophilia closed the book she was reading – one that Mercedes had given to her to read earlier that week – and wandered on over to answer the door. "How can I help you, Alf?"

"I'm makin' the monthly rounds of the village and Zeph's too busy makin' doe eyes at Mercedes to help me. You free to help a guy out?"

Ophilia grinned and grabbed her staff from besides the door. "Of course. Perhaps you can finally teach me how you make those potions of yours!"

"And give away my trade secrets?!" Alfyn put a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "Why, I could never!"

Laughing, Ophilia closed the door behind her and put on her best Riverland's accent. "But, if I don't know how to make the perfect sleep salve, however will I save Mama?!"

"Waill..." Alfyn exaggerated his own accent as they made their way to Alek's house. "Ah can't exactly teach ya ma trade… But ah suppose ah can cut a deal fer a pretty lil thin' like ya..."

Ophilia started laughing uproariously which, in turn, set Alfyn off in gales of laughter. There weren't many people who could get Ophilia laughing like that, and she was always grateful when he did. He always seemed to know how to cheer her up.

"Come on," she bonked him on the head with her staff between fits of giggles. "Be serious, we've got people to heal."

"Ow!" He rubbed the back of his head in mock pain, continuing to laugh. "Bonk me like that again and I'll have to heal myself!"

"Oh, sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"Of course not," Alfyn wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her in for a side hug. "I'm just teasing."

"Good." Ophilia bonked him again with a sly little grin.

There was a sarcastic remark waiting for her behind his inward-twisted lips, a laugh waiting to be released. Instead of making the remark, he just stared at her, almost long enough to make her uncomfortable, before he stuck his tongue out and knocked on Alek's door. As his granddaughter answered, Ophilia had to try and look professional, all the while holding back another laugh.

Alfyn and Ophilia had gotten on like a house on fire from the moment they met. They were both healers for one and had a great deal of respect for each other as a result; they were also of a similar age and background, which only helped strengthen an already blossoming friendship. Then came the day that one of Alfyn's sarcastic quips finally broke Ophilia serious, professional seeming exterior and got her laughing.

After that first laughing fit, Alfyn had been desperate to get another one out of her. Although, as much as he tried – and, by the Gods, he tried _a lot_ – the giggles and uproarious laughter he managed to elicit from her were still few and far between. In reality, their rarity only made them all the sweeter.

As the pair went around town healing and laughing, Ophilia started to reflect more and more on the time the two of them had spent together in their travels. It hadn't taken long at all for the two to start shortening each others names and soon they were always seen together after a long day. After they both took their first human life, it was the other healer that they turned to for reassurance and hugs and by the end of their travels they considered each other as close a friend as Lianna and Zeph.

And it was a wonderful thing to be travelling with someone you considered your closest friend.

By the time all the villagers had had their check-ups performed by the apothecary and cleric duo, it was already getting towards sunset. And Alfyn still had one more trip to make.

Following in curiosity, Ophilia watched as Alfyn reached the bottom of the stairs that lead to the cemetery and pulled a slightly flattened bouquet of waterblooms from his satchel. With a rare serious expression creasing his features, he turned to Ophilia.

"Would you mind waitin' here for me?" He asked her politely. Knowing all too well how important it can be to visit relatives graves alone, Ophilia nodded and allowed him his time alone with his mother.

Alfyn had never much talked about his father – nor his mother, really – but it was clear that his mother meant a great deal to him, and that was something Ophilia understood all too well. Whilst she'd been orphaned at just 5 years old and couldn't remember her real parents, Josef and Liana were all she really needed. So, after she'd lost one she was all too eager to keep the other hale and hearty.

She was also all too eager to be around her sister as much as possible, afraid to see her die too. Afraid that any conversation could be their last. It was an awfully morbid way of thinking, but one her mind would always turn to whenever she was left alone. So, she was always glad to have someone nearby to talk to, and Alfyn was always all to eager to talk to her, to keep her smiling.

Eventually, he returned from the cemetery, his serious expression replaced by a sort of melancholic happiness: sad eyes and smiling lips. In a subdued voice he asked, "Do you have a favourite flower, Lia?"

"Hmm," she mused aloud, not questioning his question nor asking how he felt; there was no need to, she knew all too well. "I have a special fondness for the Frostland Daisies that grow at the top of the hill back home, they were the first flowers I ever saw there. But, I also like Mind-Me-Always blooms, though I don't see them very often."

"Those are the ones that used to grow up in Northreach, right?" Alfyn asked as they started to make their way back to his house and the inn.

"Yes, the ones we found for Ogen." Ophilia nodded, remembering how they'd travelled halfway across Orsterra looking for these blooms only to find them in Victor's Hollow. Alfyn's search for those flowers for Ogen was one of those acts of kindness that Ophilia would never forget, if only because of the look of gratitude that finally appeared on Ogen's face as he took those blooms from his fellow apothecary.

They walked the rest of the way to Alfyn's house in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Alfyn spoke up. "You got any plans for tomorrow?"

"Not particularly," Ophilia shook her head with a little laugh. "I normally spend the day with my family but it looks like Lianna's got other things on her mind!"

Alfyn chuckled. "I used to spend the day with Zeph, tryin' to distract him from his heartache. Looks like that's been fixed this year!"

Ophilia was right on the verge of asking Alfyn if he wanted to do something with her tomorrow before stopping herself. She'd only be asking a friend if they wanted to spend time with her, like they often did, relaxing and chatting. But, what if people saw and got the wrong idea, what if people thought they were dating? They were just friends, so why did Ophilia feel so nervous asking to spend time with him? Why had the cat suddenly caught her tongue when the reality of the situation was that tomorrow as just like any other day?

"Well," she said a little awkwardly, spinning her staff around in her hand, "Have a good evening, Alfyn."

He raised an eyebrow. "You too, Ophilia."

And with that, she gave him a little wave and dashed off in the direction of her inn room, throwing herself onto the bed almost before the door had closed.

What in the hells was that?! They'd been having a normal day, behaving as they always did – a pair of close friends who enjoyed each others company immensely. Then the idea of Steorra's day entered her mind, then the worry of what he'd think if she invited him out to do something on Steorra's day crossed her mind.

They were just friends, nothing more. It wouldn't have been awkward to ask.

Then why, in the name of Aelfric, was her heart beating so fast right now? Why was the thought of spending tomorrow, a day like any other, with her dear friend making her blush?

Why was she wondering if they were something more than friends when all signs indicated that they weren't? Why was her heart aching, wanting them to be something more?

* * *

It was long past midnight when Alfyn finally gave up on sleeping and started to get dressed.

Ever since Ophilia had left him so abruptly and weirdly earlier thoughts of the cleric had been running around his head. Had he said something wrong to her today? Had he made things awkward between them by asking her about flowers and her plans for tomorrow? He'd been asking about her favourite flowers out of nothing more than curiosity, but had she thought he wanted to get her some for tomorrow?

Had she thought that him asking about her Steorra's day plans meant he wanted to ask her out?

Because he'd never thought any of those things.

Truthfully, he'd only ever seen Ophilia as a friend, a close and true friend, but a friend all the same. But seeing Zeph with Mercedes, Lianna with Eliza and all of his fellow travellers with their partners had got him thinking more about the fact that he was still single.

Normally, he wouldn't think about his own relationship status and would spend his Steorra's days with Zeph, trying to cheer him up and distract him from missing Mercedes. This year was different. Zeph was happy and Mercedes was actually here and it was Alfyn left feeling like the odd one out.

It was Alfyn who needed cheering up.

But he guessed he'd have to settle for looking at the moon in the river. Stretching and settling his clothes, he opened his door and started on the short walk from his house to the bridge in the centre of town.

Only to find it occupied by a certain cleric.

 _Should I turn back and leave her alone?_ Alfyn wondered, looking at Ophilia's moon washed silhouette. She was leaning on her elbows, hands intertwined as if she was praying but her eyes were wide open and staring straight down into the lake; the gentle breeze twisted her hair behind her and the moon leached all colour from her, making her looking even paler than usual.

Honestly, Alfyn thought her quite beautiful. ...Which brought him up short and locked him to his place. Before the two had become fast friends, he'd thought her beautiful many a time. Since then, though he still appreciated her beauty, he hadn't been quite as entranced by it as he was now.

Evidently, Ophilia felt someone staring and looked up from the river, straight at Alfyn. _Bollocks._

"Hey, Lia," he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I was just, ah, gettin' some air..."

"You can't sleep either, can you?" She asked, a smile in her voice that he couldn't see.

There was no point lying, so he just shook his head and made his way over to stand next to her, also leaning against the bridge railing. "No, I can't."

"I'm really sorry," Ophilia laughed a little, "I made things awkward earlier, didn't I?"

"No!" Lied Alfyn, a little too quickly. "No, you-"

"Alf, I made things awkward and I'm really sorry." Ophilia said assuredly with a smile before turning back to stare at the river. "I've never spent Steorra's day alone and I thought I'd ask if you wanted to do something, but then I thought you'd get the wrong idea and… I'm rambling."

They both laughed, that natural laugh that came so easily when the two of them were together. Suddenly, everything seemed normal again, all the earlier awkwardness washed away.

"I've never spent Steorra's day alone either," Alfyn admitted, staring down into the river for a moment before turning to Ophilia and giving her the biggest smile. "But, I'd love to spend tomorrow with you. I could show you the Cave of Rhiyo, where the waterblooms… bloom."

"I'd like that," Ophilia giggled before becoming nervous again. "It… won't be weird, will it? Two people looking at flowers on Steorra's day…?"

"Of course not!" Again, Alfyn jumped in a little too quickly with the reassurance. Really, he was wondering if it'd be weird himself. "It's not like it's a date."

"Right..." Even washed pale in the moonlight, it was impossible to deny that Ophilia was blushing as she asked. "But, what if it was? Would… you date me?"

Alfyn could only stare at her in astonishment. "Ophilia, you're one of the most beautiful and talented people I've ever met, any man would be lucky to date you."

Red in the face, Ophilia turned her body towards him, giving him her full attention as she asked, "Would you?"

"Why on earth would you want to settle for a schlub like me?" Alfyn asked, also turning to face her head on. Deep, deep down – below his conscious thoughts and in the depths of his heart - he wanted this. But something held him back. There was a worry, in the back of his mind, about what would happen if they went down this route and it didn't work out. What if this was just nerves about being alone on Steorra's day? What if they threw a great friendship away because of a useless, Steorra's day fling?

"Because," Ophilia took a step closer to him, looking him right in the eye as she quietly said, "You are one of the kindest, most selfless people I've ever met and you don't give yourself enough credit. Not only do you help everyone you meet free of charge, but you do it with a smile that only adds to your already beautiful face."

"Ophilia, are you-" Alfyn started, red in the face as well as, the cleric only inches away from him. This couldn't be real. "Am I dreamin'?"

With a gentle expression, she pinched his forearm and leant up to steal a quick kiss. Only, Alfyn wouldn't let her get away with _just_ a quick kiss. If everything went wrong after this, so be it. Because this was the best he'd ever felt. In fact, it felt so natural, so _perfect_ that he could only wonder why they hadn't been doing this all the time.

It was as though an already perfect friendship had just been made even better, as though that _something_ he'd never realised had been missing had just been found.

Still, after what felt both like forever and not long enough, he broke the kiss and pulled Ophilia close to his beating heart.

"What if this all goes wrong?"

"What if it _doesn't_?" Leaning gently away, she looked him full in the face with the largest of smiles, a smile brighter than the moon shining on them. "Happy Steorra's day, Alf."

Resting his chin on the top of her head, he grinned out into his tiny village. His journey as a travelling apothecary had taught him so much, had allowed him to grow and mature in ways he never could in Clearbrook. And it had given him the best, most beautiful friend he'd ever had. A person he could truly call his partner.

"Happy Steorra's day, Lia."


	38. Opposites Attract

_Some are too young or broken to know how to treat someone the way they think they deserve – too uncertain of their actions to realise they've been treating them perfectly all along._

* * *

Opposites Attract

There are few people more opposite to one another than a merchant and a thief; a new, optimistic adventurer and one who travels and adventures because they have no where else to go, nothing else to do. There are few more opposite to one another than one who's lived a life in protection and shelter and one who's lived a life of relative homelessness, fighting even those they though a friend to survive. Yet, people cannot help but long to know about ways of life so different to their own, cannot help but be drawn to their opposite to ask them questions with answers they've never even considered.

Tressa and Therion couldn't help but be drawn to one another.

She'd thought him a rebel the first time she'd met him, one of those 'bad people' her parents had always told her to avoid; he'd thought her a spoilt brat, someone who'd never known loss, had never known what it was like to fight for the food on your plate. Time and exposure soon corrected their perceptions of one another and soon they considered each other as close a companion as any of the others they were travelling with.

Then something started to change.

It wasn't obvious, nor was it quick, but to the pair it seemed as though only a heartbeat had passed between them becoming something less than friends to something far more. Several months ago they were perfect strangers, people who would've never had the opportunity to meet if not for their journey; today, they were spending Steorra's day together, picnicking on the sandy beach between Goldshore and Grandport before camping under the stars.

Though neither of them were sure of when their feelings towards one another had first appeared – life before those feelings seemed all too foreign nowadays – they both clearly recalled the moment that they realised them.

One rarely forgets the first time they realise they've been bitten by love.

Therion was bitten first in what seemed, at the time, to be a completely irrelevant conversation. At least, it was a conversation borne out of Tressa's general curiosity, a conversation that hadn't mattered all that much to her until she learnt what it meant to Therion.

A foreign feeling started to consume the thief shortly after they returned the first dragonstone, during the short journey between Bolderfall and Quarryquest. They'd been in a simple battle against one of the local Birdains and their weird Egglings when Therion had gotten caught up in the tailwind of one of Tressa's spells. He hadn't been injured, nor really had he been buffeted by the winds, not that that stopped him from berating her for miscasting her spell once the battle was over. She'd looked something like a puppy with her tail between her legs as she'd apologised, not making eye contact with the man.

They hadn't been travelling as a group all that long and they were still getting used to each others ways. At least they'd finally gotten used to how much Tressa and Alfyn spoke, and the way H'aanit added unnecessary letters to her words. They were used to the fact that Ophilia almost never laughed and yet never stopped smiling, they were used to Primrose's swears and Olberic's snoring. Cyrus' lectures no longer seemed to get on everyone's nerves, Therion's absent-minded pickpocketing of civilians started to be ignored more and more... All in all, they were starting to get along. They were all starting to consider one another friends.

Then that simple battle sparked a conversation between the merchant and thief that changed his emotions rather dramatically.

"Therion?" Tressa approached him cautiously in the inn common room that night, their first night in Quarryquest before they started searching for gold in the morning.

"What?" He'd responded non-communicably, looking up from his lounging position on the communal sofa. Their other travelling friends had already retired to their rooms for the night and Therion was rather looking forward to spending his evening listening to different travellers tales in the common room. He didn't really want to waste time talking to the merchant.

"Can I ask you something?" It wasn't often that Tressa asked for permission before asking a question, normally she just blurted it out without thinking.

Still, Therion was feeling peevish and wanted her to leave, so he responded in his normal, sarcastic fashion. "Sure. When a man and a woman love each over-"

"Where did you get that scar over your eye?" She blurted out, red in the face both from the question and in embarrassment at Therion's initial response. Regardless of her embarrassment, she stood firm as Therion suddenly sat bolt upright in the sofa, face like thunder and a hand at his fringe.

"When did you see it?" He demanded, his free hand knotted into a fist.

"It's no big deal, I've got scars too-"

" _When did you see it?_ " He insisted, his voice a growl.

Tressa fidgeted and twisted her hands together, once again refusing to look him in the eye. "Earlier, when I accidentally hit you with the winds, it blew up your fringe and I saw it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked-"

"No, you shouldn't have."

" _I'm sorry!_ " There were tears in Tressa's eyes, a clog in her throat as she started to turn on her heel, completely regretting coming out of her room to talk to the thief. "It just looked so similar to mine that I wanted to ask, I'm sorry!"

"Tressa, wait!" He shouted after her, getting out of his seat with an uncommon apology already on his lips. Yet, rather of apologising, he instead asked the same question that Tressa had, "Where did you get your scar?"

Swaying in her spot for a moment, Tressa – still with her back to Therion - rolled her left sleeve down over her shoulder, revealing a long scar that travelled from the top of her arm almost neatly along the top of her shoulder blade before making a sharp turn and running all the way up the centre of her neck. How she kept it hidden was beyond Therion, how he'd never noticed it before was also a great mystery. Yet, unlike him, she seemed to not hide it – it simply resided under her clothes. She seemed to experience no shame in showing it off.

Almost without thinking, Therion reached a hand out to trace the scar line with his fingertips. It was only when his hand was but an inch from her neck that Tressa pull up her collar up, hiding the scar he'd almost touched and bringing him back to his senses. Why in the world had he wanted to touch her scar? Why had he wanted to reassure her that it would all be okay, that having a scar like that didn't make her any less beautiful?

Why and when did he start to think she was _beautiful_?

Cupping the hand that had almost stroked her scar in his other – almost afraid that he'd try to do it again – Therion asked in awe, "Tressa, how in the hells did you get that?"

Instead of turning towards him, she walked over to the sofa the thief had previously been sat on and perched on the edge, a small, almost devious, smile creasing a face that was still on the brink of tears. "Late last year, we had another pirate problem back home. They were more violent than the pirates that came this year. Instead of taking our foods and wines, they took the town's women."

 _No._ Therion perched on the other edge of the sofa, looking at the merchant in incredulity. She was always so chipper, so upbeat, there was no way she could've been…

"Thankfully, I was with one of the local fishermen a short way out at sea when the pirates came."

Therion let out an audible sigh of relief.

With a tiny, still slightly devious smile at that sigh, Tressa continued, "We couldn't have been out at sea for very long, certainly no more than an hour, but by the time we got back the town was half empty. Friends I'd grown up with, traded with every morning, had been taken away and those who'd tried to protect them had either been badly injured or stabbed in the legs and thrown into the sea."

"Tressa..."

"Morgan – the fisherman I had been with – shielded me from most of the horrors, but I still saw too many. And my Ma… Pa had been hit over the head and Ma had been… It took less than an hour for the survivors to start making a plan. But they needed bait… And I wanted my Ma back."

"Tressa, no!" Therion turned towards her protectively, a desperate fire in his eye that was rarely lit.

With a giant, devious grin on her face, Tressa looked Therion in the eye and started to laugh. "Of course not, it's just a story I read once. I wanted to see if I could fool you."

Therion was left speechless, blinking in surprise. How had she so completely gripped him? How had she told such a convincing lie?

Why was he so impressed? Why did he want to see if she could fool him with a story like that again?

"Went out fishing with Ol' Morgan one morning and got the hook caught in the back of my shoulder and dragged it all the way across my shoulder and neck, screaming, before he managed to pull it out. He still tells the story of 'the day Tressa screamed so loud she made me deaf fer a week'."

As Tressa laughed uproariously – completely ignoring the looks from all the strangers in the common room who'd clearly listened to both stories she'd told – Therion continued to stare wide-eyed at her. But, her laughter was contagious and soon Therion found himself, sheepishly at first, joining in.

"I'm glad you weren't serious." Therion found himself saying before catching himself. _I don't want you to be hurt._

"So am I." Tressa giggled, lounging back in her seat. "I mean, can you imagine?"

... _Yes._ Therion internally shuddered, hating even the idea that Tressa could've experienced something so horrid. She was the perfect antidote of happiness and innocence to his cynicism and broken morals. And he didn't want that to change.

He wanted Tressa to be happy, to never know the true darkness in the world. But he also refused to lie to her.

So when she asked, "How'd you get yours, then?" he just couldn't bring himself to lie.

With a sigh, he also leant back in his chair. "I was about 10 when I first got caught stealing. It was in one of the harsher areas of the world where the punishment for theft is having your stealing hand cut off. I was young and rather attached to my hand, so I ran my mouth to them instead. They liked that even less."

Though she found it difficult, Tressa kept a straight face as Therion continued a story that had long haunted him in his ever sarcastic tone. It wasn't as hard telling her this as he thought, the memories of having his eye sliced open not as unpleasant to recall as they usually were when the merchant listened to him.

"Eventually, after about an hour in the dungeon, they decided to stitch my mouth shut. Nine crosses across the mouth just like the trickster of myth. I was no more keen to get my lips sewn shut than I was to get my hand cut off. So, when they strapped me to that board that afternoon and the dressmaker came at me with his needle, I managed to wiggle myself out of the rope bindings just before he pricked my lip. Instead, I slipped under the needle just as it came down and it scraped straight and deep through my eye."

Therion lifted his fringe to let Tressa see the scar properly. Much like hers, it was clean and straight, an accident – though his was of malicious intent. Unlike hers, his had left him without vision in one eye and a new hairstyle to cover his mistake.

"I'm sorry." Tressa gave him a grimacing smile, a hand seeming to unconsciously reach towards the scar like his had to hers. The only other person he'd shown that scar to had been Darius, and he'd grabbed at it with violent, punishing hands, words of mocking and contempt tumbling out of his mouth. It had been a far different experience to showing Tressa.

In showing Darius he'd practically reopened old wounds; in showing Tressa it felt like he was closing them. It felt like he was finally being forgiven for being a foolish, thieving child.

He let his fringe fall back down and lied through his teeth. "It's nothing."

It wasn't nothing. It had been one of the most traumatic experiences of his life and continued to haunt him every day when he looked through the mirror. But then, in that instant, all that regret and trauma seemed to melt away as Tressa smiled at him. Instead of recalling all the pain and trauma in telling the story this time, an emotion so long gone from his memories that he almost forgotten it existed at all took up route in his being alongside a newer, more foreign emotion.

For only the second time in his entire life, Therion felt at peace. For the first time, Therion fell in love.

It was over something that had haunted him for over a decade; it was complete and completely undeniable, making him smile like a school boy as Tressa raised an eyebrow.

"Therion?"

"It's getting late." He stood suddenly, face beet red as he realised what was happening to him. As he realised that Tressa had no idea. "Let's sleep, we've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Okay..." Tressa fell in step with him as they made their way back to their rooms, looking up at his blushing face in great interest. "You alright? You're looking a little feverish."

"I'm fine." He reassured her quickly, too quickly as they reached their rooms. "Good night."

"Night." Tressa replied with a slight confused lilt to her voice as she watched him close the door. As he closed himself into an empty room to be alone with emotions he'd never experienced before.

The thief slept little that night, too caught up in new and foreign feelings, too unsure of where they'd suddenly come from. Yet, he didn't want them to disappear. He liked the butterflies that flew around his stomach whenever he thought of Tressa, he liked the fast beating of his heart whenever she laughed or smiled with him.

He liked being honest with her. He liked watching her retain her innocence even as the world around her revealed itself to be a horrible place that sometimes seemed to hold only pain and misery. Therion liked talking with her, liked being around her and in her sunny presence whenever he could be. In her company, he felt a peace. In her company, he fell more and more in love.

And, as he sat hand in hand with her on the seashore some months later, he couldn't help but remember the first time they'd kissed.

They'd both been uncertain, afraid of overstepping their boundaries. It hadn't been spontaneous, there'd been a lot of build up before Tressa eventually plucked up the courage and literally threw her lips onto his. It had been awkward, messy and not entirely pleasant – they were both new to this, after all.

And then Tressa moved her hand to cup the left side of Therion's face, accidentally grazing his scar with her thumb. And then Therion froze as Tressa quickly withdrew, apologising profusely. But, apologies weren't what he wanted.

Rather, he quite simply took her hand in his and pulled it to cup his face again. With his hand guiding her, he let her gently caress the scar as he leant into her hand. And all of a sudden, all the pain and regret, all the hard memories of growing out his fringe, of living with one eye; all of it melted away into Tressa's seemingly healing touch.

And there'd come a time, not long after that first kiss, that Therion would get to touch Tressa's scar for the first time. A time when he'd get to do the reassuring. He'd trail kisses across her shoulder and down her neck, reassuring her that it only made her more beautiful.

Telling her she was the most beautiful being he'd ever seen.

But, before all of that could happen, Tressa would have to realise her own love for the man. A realisation that came much later than Therion's.

They were travelling back to Bolderfall from Wellspring after losing the second dragonstone to Darius and helping Olberic reconcile with Erhardt. It had been an interesting few days in the desert sand as one made up with their old partner and another was reminded that there would be no reconciliation for the two of them. Tressa had watched both the events unfold with undisguised interest, internally worrying about her thieving friend.

Since that first night in Quarryquest, the pair had slowly started to become closer and closer, though Tressa was yet to realise why. Slowly but surely, emotions were growing within her: a tightly budded flower in her heart just waiting to open.

Then, a week or so after the events in Wellspring, the group of travelling misfits decided to stay over in Clearbrook for the night before heading off to the clifflands first thing in the morning. Then, late that night on the bridge in the middle of town, the bud bloomed.

With most of her friends – including Therion – in the tavern, Tressa found herself at a loss for things to do. Sure, she could be in the tavern with them – the fact that she was unable to drink didn't mean that she wasn't allowed in there – but there's only so much fun to be had in watching others drink themselves into insensibility. And she supposed she could try to barter with a few of the local merchants at the bar to try and cut herself a steal of a deal, but she really wasn't a fan of swindling drunken competitors.

So, instead, she decided to take a turn around town as the night wore on.

Most people would know what a stupid idea it is to walk around even the safest place in the world alone under the shadow of night; but Tressa saw no danger. Though she'd travelled around the realm a good three times now, though she'd seen more atrocities and horrors than she'd ever wished to see in that time, though she'd heard enough tales of violence and theft from Therion to know better; Tressa still walked around Clearbrook alone that night.

Some might have thought she felt no fear, but in truth, she felt nothing but it. Her legs shook with ever step and she frequently found herself looking over her shoulder to make sure there was no one there. But, she still searched the town high and low for natural treasures she could sell.

In the end, all she found was a rather shiny pebble that she doubted she could sell to even a magpie. Frustrated and peevish – though she wasn't really sure where this feeling of unrest had come from – Tressa found herself turning the pebble over and over in her hands as she rested her back against the rail of the bridge. At least she could be sure no one would be behind her here.

With thoughts chasing their way around her head so quick that she couldn't keep up, emotions darting around and around that she couldn't hope to understand, she stared into nothing as she turned the pebble. Where had this restlessness come from? When had these emotions that never seemed to shut up first appeared?

"Tressa!"

Her head whipped up at the sound of her name and her heart started pounding as she saw Therion running towards her, a small pouch in his hand.

When had she started to blush whenever she saw Therion? When and why had he started making her heart pound out of her chest at the sight of him?

"Hey, Therion!" She waved him down, pocketing her pebble and willing her blush to die. "Whatcha got there?"

As he came to a stop in front of her, Tressa finally saw the giant smile on his face and immediately raised an eyebrow. She'd never seen him smile like that before, beaming so openly and honestly… Before, she'd seen smirks, half twists to the lips, but never had she seen a smile like this. She'd also never seen him so dishevelled, his hair flying in every which way and a bright blush on his cheeks.

He almost looked like a different person.

Still grinning, he held the pouch out to her. "I got you a present."

" _Got_ me a present?" Tressa gave him a look as she looked at the small silk pouch embroidered with flowers in his hand. It was truly beautiful and she could only imagine it's contents, but she could hardly accept it knowing it was probably stolen. "I think you mean _stole_ me a present."

"No, I didn't steal this." Shaking his head vigorously, Therion looked her square in the eye. "Ask the others, I paid for this fair and square."

Even more confused – who was this man and what had he done to the thief she'd come to know and… Tressa shook her head with a little laugh, once again willing her blush down, and took the pouch from him. "Thank you?"

"Open it."

"Alright, I'm opening it!" Tressa laughed, pulling the pouch open by the strings. That laughter came to an abrupt stop when she saw what was inside.

Attached to a thin silver chain was a leaf so old that Tressa didn't even recognise the monarch. It had clearly been well cleaned and preserved before it had been made into a necklace - it glinted even in the dim moonlight - and Tressa estimated it's value to be no less than ten thousand leaves.

"Therion..." Tressa continued to stare at the necklace in awe, her heart in her eyes as she realised that he'd brought such a beautiful gift just for her. "Put it on me."

Without even nodding, Therion simply moved to stand behind her as she lifted her stray hairs out of the way and handed him the clasp. Soon, the old leaf was resting just above her heart, the silver clasp just over her scar, and the merchant was once again looking at the thief with tears in her eyes.

Before she could stop herself, Tressa pulled Therion in for a hug, almost crying into his chest as she thanked him over and over for such a thoughtful gift. He was laughing, patting her gently on the back and telling her it was nothing, just a trinket that had reminded him of her – all the while trying to not let his true feelings show.

"It's not _nothing_!" Tressa pulled back from him, cupping the leaf in her hand. "This is one of the most thoughtful gifts I've ever gotten!"

Looking up at him once more, that bud in her heart finally exploded into bloom. All of a sudden everything seemed to dim a little as Therion got lighter, as her blush grew ever brighter.

This was nothing like any of the books had described it; there was no electric tingle as their skin touched, no flowery confession of emotion. Instead there was just blushes and a perpetual shiver running up and down her spine as she quite suddenly shouted "Do you want to go out together sometime, just the two of us?"

There was no sweeping orchestral theme as he raised his eyebrow in surprise, no sudden pin drop silence as he ran away in embarrassment. Instead, Therion just seemed to relax his posture almost imperceptibly as he smiled. "I'd like that."

It took a while for the two to get some alone time away from the rest of the party and even longer for them to realise that they were both in love with one another, but that night in Clearbrook was a start. And when she got back to her inn room that night, Tressa withdrew the seemingly worthless shiny pebble from her pocket and looked at it anew. Suddenly it wasn't just a shiny stone that she'd never manage to sell, suddenly it was something much more.

She had that pebble in her pocket on their first date, then again on the day of their first kiss… That pebble came with her whenever she was with Therion until she came to think of it as _their_ pebble.

Even as they sat together on Steorra's night, Tressa pulled the pebble from her pocket once again to look at it.

"What's that?" Therion asked when he noticed she'd lifted her head from his shoulder to look at it closer.

This pebble was a symbol of her love for him, yet… She'd never said the words to him. And he'd never said them to her.

They both knew, their every interaction with one another quite clearly conveyed their love for one another and yet, never had the words exited their lips.

"I picked up this pebble the night you gave me that necklace."

"Really?" Therion looked at the pebble in curiosity. "It's pretty."

"And completely worthless." Tressa laughed. "Well, it was. But, now I carry it with me everywhere."

"Why?"

"I dunno." She giggled and pocketed it again before shuffling in the sand to kneel directly in front of Therion. Looking him in the eye, she blushed bright as she finally said the words.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Of course." He paused while brushing a stray strand of hair from her face as he realised what she had moments before. "And you know I… Love you too, don't you?"

She grinned and pulled herself into his lap, curling into his chest and letting him hold her. "I do."

They were both still young in the grand scheme of things, and still so opposite to one another in so many ways. Yet, they'd come to love each other, come to know one another most intimately. They'd walked through the gates of hell together and made it back out alive, knowing, always knowing, there would be a pair of arms waiting to hold them at the end of the day.

One had been lost and the other missing something, but together they'd found what they were looking for. Together, they had found a most perfect peace.


	39. The Best Medicine

_And for some, love can transcend all boundaries. They'll scale mountains and cross every sea, only to find their lover waiting with open arms for them to return._

* * *

The Best Medicine

There are some people that you instantly know are special; some people that are always, always on your mind.

The first time they'd met they'd been young, barely more than five years old, living in a Cliffland village bordering the Riverlands that no longer exists. The day they'd met, it was as though light came into his world for the first time, it was as though he was finally allowed to open his long closed eyes.

Upon a hill just outside of the village was a weeping willow tree who's branches touched the ground in the warm summer sun. The air on one side of the tree was dustily humid, the same air that always scratched at his lungs in the village; the air on the other was clear and refreshing, carrying with it the faint tang of the Middle-Sea. But, Graham hadn't really been paying attention to the air. No, he'd just been running laps around the base of the tree like he always did, laughing, always laughing.

With his eyes closed and arms spread wide, he ran, not a care in the world, not a thought in his mind.

Then he crashed head first into someone else. Then both of their laughs came to an abrupt stop. And when he opened his eyes, his heart started hammering out of his chest.

Before him, in a tangled mess of leaves and twigs, was a girl his own age. Her long flaxen hair was tangled with leaves and wild flowers, her short dress torn in multiple places and her long boots scuffed and covered in mud. Yet, even in that messy, some would argue unladylike state, Graham became smitten.

Yes, he became so smitten that he barely noticed the blood dripping from her nose, the tears standing in her clear, blue eyes. And when he finally came to his senses, apology after apology came tumbling from his lips.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and a small vial of salt water from the 'pock-a-therry' pouch that his mother – the village's 'pock-a-therry' - had made for him, Graham offered to clean her nose. Instead, she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her pretty little dress and made a mad dash out from under the tree, tangling herself up in more and more leaves as Graham watched in place, his mouth agape.

When he finally rose to his feet, he called after her, begging her to stop, to wait, pushing his way through the tree and back to his little village. But, as soon as he was out from under the tree, he saw his mother with the girl in her lap, cleaning her up. He watched as she gave him a scolding look before breaking out into laughter and telling him it was nothing serious.

He listened as she introduced him to Alana, the blacksmith's daughter.

Such was the first time Graham Crossford met his eventual bride.

From that day, the two were practically inseparable. When Graham wasn't studying medicine under his mother or magicks under his father, he could be found under that willow with Alana. Some days they simply ran around and around, others they climbed as high as they possibly could. Then their were Graham's favourite days, the days when Alana would get a devious little look in her eye and play a game of kisses. It'd be his punishment for getting caught while running and climbing, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't tripped on purpose many a time.

Oh, to be held in her arms once again!

Soon, those awkward, teenage years caught up to them and changes began to morph what their parents had once seen as innocent, childhood love into something more 'dangerous'. Soon, Graham found himself so consumed by his studies that he never got a spare moment to find his way to that tree. Soon, Graham found himself so busy that the only time he got to see Alana was in church – and they couldn't exactly talk to one another while the rest of the villagers commanded their time.

So, they started sneaking out. As soon as Graham was sure his parents were asleep, he'd crack open his window and crawl out of his house, never looking back as he ran up that familiar hill. He'd find Alana nestled into the natural crook of the branches, sat in a rather unladylike position as she cut apples with a knife she'd forged herself.

Whilst advancing in years simply made Graham taller, gave him some fluff on his chin that he liked to claim would one day become a beard, and made his voice a little deeper, they'd had a far more interesting affect on Alana. Whilst her figure had gained curves and her arms had gained muscles that only those working in a smithy could earn, her face had also lost some of its innocence and gain much more mischief. Her smile still lit up the sun and her long, beautiful blonde hair was as radiant as ever, but there was always something more behind it. She twisted her hair into elaborate swirls that Graham could never find the end to yet she could untangle with one move; she twisted her lips into a mischievous little grin that she frequently dared him to steal with his own.

And, of course, he did. They spent many a night in that tree stealing apple flavoured kisses from one another, laughing together, sharing dreams for the future – Graham wanted to be a town's apothecary and Alana wanted to prove to the world that women could be good smiths - until the sun started to rise and they had to run back to their own beds.

The day Alana came of age, Graham was at her father's door, begging, _begging_ for her hand. The old smith simply laughed as Graham continued to beg, his heart in his eyes, before giving him his blessing freely. The two were married within the week in a simple ceremony before the willow. With Alana dressed in a simple white gown, flowers braided into her hair that Graham was sure were far simpler to untangle than they looked, Graham stood across from her in his best tunic and pledged his ever lasting love.

He told her he'd walk through the gates of Hell and back for her.

Within the month, they moved away from that willow they so loved so that Graham could start an apothecary store of his own – not that he intended to make profits, just enough for he and his beloved to get by. By the time the pair brought their little house/store at the back of Bolderfall, Alana was pregnant.

Oh, how they'd rejoiced!

Early the next spring, they welcomed Kit into the world and they couldn't have been happier. Graham had a business, Alana sold jewellery she'd made over the furnace to the women and small daggers to the men, and Kit had a loving place to grow and call his own surrounded by his family and the local children whom soon became fast friends.

Then Alana got sick.

It didn't seem like much a first, just the same bout of coughs that the rest of the town had been struck with, so Graham treated her with extra care as he strove to make that cough disappear.

Then she started to cough up blood.

So, Graham worked twice as hard, caring for both her and Kit as he read through every possible book on medicine, hoping, always hoping, to stumble across some cure.

Then came the rash. That awful, purple rash that covered her beautiful arms.

Then she started to drop her tongs, breaking metal that she'd spent so long crafting.

Then came the nightmares, the never ending nightmares. She'd see red eyes, a piercing red gaze that never wavered, never looked anywhere else.

Then Graham left town.

With Kit in the care of his friends, Graham begged the rest of the town to keep an eye on his beloved, to keep her safe as he travelled across Orsterra looking for the items that would make him a cure. Unwavering, he made his way to Grandport in search of the rare items his elixir need, buying them at extortionate prices – with gold he'd helped himself to from Quarrycrest - knowing, always knowing, that his wife was waiting for him to return. Without hesitation, he made his way back to Victor's Hollow in search of the ingredients he need there.

He made his way around Orsterra with a smile and can-do attitude, saving many lives and making an impact on many, many more. He'd take as little as he could get away with for his services – he was only helping those in need, after all, isn't that what anyone would do? - and detailed every step of his adventure in a diary he'd been gifted in Grandport.

Finally, many moons after he'd left his beloved, Graham needed only one more item: an Ogre Eagle feather.

And time was no longer on his side.

With nothing to lose, he begged Pirate Captain Leon Bastralle to take him across the Verdant Deep to Orewell, hoping he'd make it in time to see his beloved smile once again. He offered his diary, his list of adventures that he hoped to share with his wife and son when he returned, in exchange for safe and swift passage on Leon's Merchant's ship.

And so he made his way to Orewell. And so he fought the Ogre Eagle and brewed his elixir.

Hope restored and heart full of love, the image of Alana's smile carried him swiftly home.

Where he found her draped in a cloth in bed, days, only days, too late.

He'd screamed. He'd cried. He'd murmured her name over and over again as the towns people made preparations for her funeral.

For three days and three nights he was under constant watch, his bag of tonics taken from him lest he use them to make something deadly. For three days and three nights he wept, wishing, _wishing_ to see his beloved smile again.

On the fourth day, with Kit in his arms, the pair left town and lead the way to her resting spot below the willow. Together, the pair wept in the rain, their cloaks whipping around their ankles as Alana was laid to rest near the spot where she and Graham had first met – they hadn't been much older than Kit at the time.

That night they slept under the bare willow, wishing for their wife and mother to return. Instead, a young looking woman approached Graham, a question on her lips that he couldn't refuse.

"Would you like to see your beloved once more?"

Leaving Kit in the care of his friends, Graham set of once again, the elixir he'd laboured so long over in his pouch and the knowledge that he'd find his wife on the other side of the Gate of Finis carrying him ever onward. On his way south, he encountered a sickly child in Clearbrook, a child in need of the elixir he'd laboured so long over.

In Clearbrook he'd find forgiveness from his wife. He'd find peace and receive the only words of encouragement he'd need to think his journey wasn't a foolish one.

"I hope I can do that too, someday."

He'd leave Alfyn in the care of his mother, friend and the village's apothecary before carrying on south.

Not much farther along the Middle-Sea bank, he'd meet a fellow apothecary in a situation all too similar to his own. Not much farther, Graham would save Ogen from himself.

With words of encouragement and the reassurance that there were still lives he could save if he had it in him to save them, Graham left Ogen to his grief in much the same way he wished Bolderfall had left him to his own.

Eventually, he reached former Hornburg and his back bristled as he realised what a mistake he was making.

Lyblac drew her circle in the ground and Graham watched in growing unease remembering, just too late – as always – what it meant to be a Crossford. Remembering why his father had taught him all those spells growing up.

There'd been an instance, an instance that lasted all too long, that Graham had almost succumbed to the witch. There'd been an instance when he could feel it, that icy touch of something long dead and all too evil.

He screamed as a piercing pain spasmed through his body.

Then he saw her, smiling. Then he saw him, eyes wide and innocent, asking where he'd gone.

Then Graham broke free.

But he was too late.

Lyblac spirited herself away and Graham was all alone, his consciousness fleeing. Without a care in the world, he let himself sink beneath the surface as he felt his hands change, his back arch at impossible angles.

 _I'll be there soon, love._

When he woke he saw only carnage. Death and decay, stone figures that looked all too much like warriors in a part of the world he didn't recognise. His mind wasn't his own and everywhere he looked he saw trails of glowing red. Without thinking, he rushed in the direction of running water, catching a glimpse of himself as he lost control yet again.

 _NoOOOooo!_

"I cannot recall most of the last decade. I know I wondered, without aim, for many, many years. All too infrequently, I would come back to myself and see only destruction, no memories. But I'd know. I'd know it had been me.

"Near to the end, there was a hunter who came after me with a legion of Knight's Ardente. I lost consciousness when he appeared before me, talking in a S'warkiian dialect, and came back to see him in stone with the legions and his wolf gone. And I knew, it was me.

"So I ran. Where legs that were no longer mine took me, I do not recall, but I eventually came to reside in an old crypt outside of Marsalim.

"There I took the lives of too many warriors before my lucidity returned.

"With hands that no longer mine, I etched my final words. I begged whomever came next to kill me. I wished for only atonement. I wished for Kit and you to forgive me, my dear."

Together, the two sat in those willow tree branches, a part of a world that was no longer theirs to live in. Together, the two watched a lone, blond traveller approach.

"We do, Graham."

He'd travelled across the continent for her, scaled mountains and sailed seas in search of a cure and had been just days too late to get it to her. In his grief, he'd left his son alone in his time of need and travelled across the world again on a fools errand that had almost let Galdera consume the land. Anguish gripping his entire body, he'd been turned into something hideous that could only be destroyed by the hunter's prentice, a merchant who'd been following his diary, a scholar in possession of the tome that Lyblac had recited her ritual from, and Alfyn, the young apothecary who's life he'd saved.

He'd screamed that he was still a man as H'aanit had pierced him with her arrow, not realising how much peace he'd find when he was finally free.

Not realising that Alana would be waiting patiently for him, her arms open as he ran to her, tears streaming down his face.

Together, the two had watched Kit fall for Lyblac's lies as hard as Graham had – he'd get to see both his parents again if he followed her. Together, the two had watched as eight became twelve, keeping a close eye on Kit's travelling friends as they crossed the Gate of Finis to save him.

The Gods had been merciful and allowed them some time with their son. The Gods had been merciful and allowed Graham enough time to thank those who'd followed in his footsteps and the one who'd freed him from his mortal prison.

And now the Gods were letting the two of them see Kit again on Steorra's day.

Settling herself closer to Graham as they watched Kit approach with a bouquet of wild flowers, Alana asked, "Do you remember our first Steorra's day, beloved?"

"Of course," Graham answered without hesitation, recalling that day nearly thirty years ago now. "I brought you sweets in exchange for kisses under the tree."

The two laughed, loud enough to make Kit glance up into the branches. This late into winter, the leaves were all long gone and the occasional brave bud was only just starting to poke out its head; there was nothing to obscure the view of a pair of lovers in each other's arms near the top of the tree.

There was nothing stopping Kit from seeing the ghostly figures of his parents as he came to visit their graves.

"He looks just like you." Alana noted as she watched him drop the flowers and start to climb.

"However, he climbs like you." Graham laughed as their son pulled his way up the tree, desperate to see his parents again. Even if only for a moment. Even if only as ghosts.

"Mother! Father!" It took a great deal of self control for him to not throw himself into their intangible arms, Graham knew.

"Kit!" Alana didn't have quite the same self control as her son and launched herself from Graham's lap into her son's arms. She shocked them both when those arms became tangible. Laughing as she brought her husband into the hug, Alana cried such clear tears. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this moment."

"Mother, Father, how are you…?" Kit started, also crying as he held her and Graham close to him. "I'm not… Am I?"

"No, no you're still alive." Alana took Kit's face in her hands and kissed his forehead soundly. "I asked Steorra for a favour."

"And She gave you one?" Graham asked in shock, looking from his wife to his son in loving disbelief.

"Yes, but not for very long." She sighed, watching as her hands became intangible once again. "Never long enough."

"Mother, don't go..." Kit begged her, reaching for her ghostly form uselessly as he cried again. "I can't lose you both again..."

"We will always be with you, Kit." Graham reassured him, remembering what he'd told him as the Gates of Finis had closed. "Live on for us."

"I will." Kit lent back on his knees as he watched his parents disappear once again.

"Every road is yours to take. Find your friends, and find yourself an adventure all your own..."

Graham faded back into the world beyond with his beloved yet again, watching as his son's head dropped, listening to his faint weeps.

"Have we just made things worse for him?" Alana asked, her hand in her husbands.

Kit raised his head and dried his eyes. Without even a hint of his former tears, he looked at where his parents had appeared before him and gave that spot the biggest grin imaginable.

"No." Graham shook his head.

"I love you." Kit told the empty space in the tree before beginning his descent and subsequent journey to meet his friends in Noblecourt.

"We love you too, Kit." Pulling Alana in for a hug, Graham reassured his son as they watched him run away. Forever, they would watch over him with love and kindness. Together, they would watch as he grew into a man of his own, adventuring across the realm and helping those in need with compassion.

Graham couldn't have been more proud.

* * *

 _I don't believe Graham's wife's given a name in game, hence why I've just called her Alana for now. If she does have a canon name that I'm not aware of, please let me know! See you for the conclusion of Valentines week tomorrow!_


	40. Once Upon a Time

_And so we come to an end of Valentines week..._

 _I really hope you've enjoyed these stories!_

* * *

 _But true love and romance isn't everything. Sometimes one just needs to know their loved by friends to know everything will be okay._

* * *

Once Upon A Time...

"To Kit! Summoner of Galdera, saviour of Orsterra!" Cyrus raised his wine glass to the young lad in a toast.

"To Kit!" Nine other wine glasses – some filled with non-alcholic grape juices – clinked against one another as Kit sat quietly in the corner, feeling a blush coming on.

"Thanks…?" The young traveller let out a little laugh as he sipped on his own grape juice, trying not to make too much eye contact with the assembled travellers. It certainly hadn't felt like he'd been saving Orsterra when he'd allowed himself to become a vessel for the Dark God...

Deep in the heart of Azelhart manse, 13 travellers – and Linde - sat on various pieces of dusty furnitures, each others laps, or the even dustier floor. There was a fire burning in the giant hearth by the wall – Primrose had told Kit that Cyrus took great pleasure in lighting it – and the entire room had an air of dark, dusty laziness.

It was really rather pleasant.

After spending near enough an entire year on his feet, travelling from one town to the next, never sure of where he'd spend the night, Kit was rather looking forward to spending the night at House Azelhart with his fellow travellers and new friends. Holding his wine glass almost protectively close to his chest, he quickly glanced around the assembled travellers again.

In one corner of the room, Olberic and Erhardt were huddled closely together under one of the sheets that had previously covered the furniture; a little to their right, Alaic as sat in a tall chair, intricately braiding H'aanit's hair as she sat cross legged on the floor before him, Linde watching them both rather closely. On the other side of the room, Tressa was sat on Therion's lap in an armchair that seemed almost comically too big for them whilst Ophilia and Alfyn were sat across from one another weaving flowers into circlets on a low coffee table decorated in soft pillows. Opposite the fireplace, Primrose lazed on a divan, soaking up the heat of the fire with a slightly distracted look in her eye. Occassionally, Kit would notice that distracted gaze focussing on Cyrus who was sat with his back against the wall next to the fire, almost completely absorbed in the book on his lap.

Kit himself was sat on what was probably once a footstool between Primrose and the table that Ophilia and Alfyn were lazing on. And he was starting to feel a little uncomfortable by the almost silence that had filled the room once they'd toasted him.

Clearing his throat, he turned his attention to Primrose, "What's the plan for tonight, then?"

She shrugged, "I can't say I made one."

"We could play Therion's drinkin' game!" Alfyn spoke up, briefly turning his attention away from Ophilia to look at Therion only to be met with a scowl.

"Drinking game?" Kit heard Alaic ask H'aanit in curiosity.

"A chancen for Therion to gatheren blackmail materiale." H'aanit answered assuredly as Linde started to settle herself on her lap.

"Ah." Erhardt breathed in understanding.

"Or," Tressa started, clearly sensing her partner's discomfort, "We could tell stories."

The group of travellers murmured as a collective as Cyrus' eyes lit up. "What an excellent idea, Tressa! I have just the story-"

"As much as we love hearing your stories, Cyrus," Primrose said delicately, a slightly pitying looking in her eye, "I not sure they're what we want to hear tonight."

"Then what stories should we tell, my dear?"

"I..." Kit started nervously. These people had been travelling together almost as long as he'd been travelling alone. They knew each other far better than he knew any of them and he was just a little nervous about putting ideas to the group. "That is, my father and I used to play a story telling game when I was really small. Maybe we could play that?"

"An interesting proposal," Olberic rubbed his chin before pulling the sheet closer around him and Erhardt – they were rather a long way from the fire. "How does one play this game?"

"Well, it's quite simple. One person says a sentence then the person to their right has to say the sentence that comes after it, making a story as you go around the room. Or, one person could say half a sentence and let the person next to them finish the other half."

"I see," Ophilia looked from Kit to Alfyn. "So, if I were to start a sentence, I could leave it hanging for Alf to finish. Like, 'When I was out walking in the fields this morning...'"

"'I got eaten by a giant lake monster.'" Alfyn finished the story quickly with a giant smile only for the entire room to fall completely silent.

"That's an awful sentence, Alfyn." Therion, never one to beat around the bush, spoke up from the depths of the chair after the silence became too awkward.

"But the right idea." Kit smiled encouragingly at the apothecary, remembering the days when he'd finished his father's sentences with similarly improbably ideas. Turning his attention back to Primrose, he asked, "What do you think?"

"Sounds like it could be fun." She sat herself up higher on her divan. "Do you want to start us off?"

"Okay." Kit nodded, conscious that all eyes were on him as he straightened himself on the stool. "Once upon a time, there was..."

He turned to Primrose, indicating that she should end the sentence. She thought for a moment. "…a dragon."

H'aanit raised her eyebrow in interest as Alaic continued to focus on braiding her hair.

Olberic raised his back slightly against the arm of the chair as he said his sentence. "With wings the size of mansions and claws the size of trees,"

"the dragon was a rather unsightly beast." Erhardt grimaced as he finished the sentence without needing to pause.

"Ah..." Alaic clearly didn't handle the pressure of needing to start the next sentence very well. "Um, the only place the dragon felt at home..."

H'aanit also took her time thinking of how to end the sentence. "Wast alone in the sky wheren no one could seest his foul face."

"He was awfully lonely." Cyrus said simply, surprising everyone in the room; they'd all been expecting a long eloquent sentence from the Professor. Kit was the only to notice the sad smile Primrose briefly flashed Cyrus.

"But, with his huge wings, the dragon could fly wherever he wanted, see whatever he wanted to see." Tressa said, trying to put a positive spin on the tale of a lonely, ugly dragon.

"Frequently, he flew over mountains and under the sea."

"But this only made him more lonely." Ophilia added after Therion's sentence, taking the story back to the place Tressa had tried to steer it away from.

"I suppose there's only so much alone time you can enjoy before you start feelin' lonely." Alfyn noted, turning his attention to Kit to show that that had been his contribution to the story.

Shrugging to himself, Kit carried on the story. "Then one day, someone went to visit the dragon."

"She was tall and proud, dressed from head to toe in royal armour."

"A warrior princess?" Olberic asked Primrose in surprise, though it appeared Erhardt assumed that was his contribution to the story.

"Sent by her father, the King, the Princess' only goal was to kill the dragon."

"She searched high and low for the dragon before finding his seaside cave." Alaic contributed after a very short pause.

"As soon as the Princess setten foot in the cave, the dragon letth outen a mighty roar."

Linde barked.

Smiling faintly, Cyrus continued. "Yet, as the roar echoed around the cave, the Princess heard the roar for what it truly was:"

"The dragon had spoken human words!" Tressa exclaimed.

Grinning at her excitement, Therion put on a low voice, "'Who darest enteren my lair?!"

"That ist not how I speak." H'aanit blushed in anger.

"Did I say it was?" Therion asked in his normal voice.

"Steady." Alaic put a soothing hand on H'aanit's shoulder as Ophilia continued the story.

"Taken aback by the dragon's words, the Princess hesitated before she answered."

"'I am, umm..." Alfyn stumbled.

"Rosaline." Primrose broke the formula to give him a name for her warrior Princess.

"'I am Rosaline, Princess of..."

"Atlasdam." Offered Cyrus.

"Isn't Atlasdam's Princess Mary?" Asked Tressa.

"It's a story, Tress," Alfyn answered before putting on a high pitched voice and finally getting his sentence out. "'I am Rosaline, warrior Princess of Atlasdam."

From the looks he could clearly see the dancer and scholar sharing, Kit started to get the feeling that the story was going to be gently lead by the pair. More than a little interested to see where the story went under their guidance, he said his sentence. "A roar echoed around the cave in response."

"'I caren not for thy name nor thy title, girl, leavest this place afore I consume thee in flames.'"

"Not much of a conversationalist, this dragon." Erhardt noted.

"He's hideous and lonesome," Olberic reminded him. "I doubt he has had much practice making conversation."

"Braver than she was wise, the Princess raised her sword and shield." Alaic said his sentence, so into the story that he missed the fact that it was the Knights' turns.

"'I fear thee not, dragon.'"

"I thought you didn't speak like that?" Therion asked mockingly only to have Tressa gently hit him in the shoulder.

"Don't."

"The dragon let out a mighty, flame filled growl." Cyrus continued the story, making the fire in the fireplace rise to an almost inferno.

"Woah." Tressa gasped before realising that she was the next person to talk. "Ah, um… I don't know what the dragon says! Cyrus, what does he say?!"

Without missing a beat, Cyrus lowered his voice, keeping the fire blazing in the hearth. "'Foolish child, thou thinketh thy might comparative to mine?'"

"Yeah, that." Tressa nodded. "That was my turn."

"Is that allowed?" Therion asked Kit.

The lone traveller shrugged again. "I don't see why not."

"Alright. With fire blazing all around her, the Princess-"

"Rosaline." Primrose prompted.

" _Rosaline_ , lowered her sword and held her shield protectively in front of her."

"'I fear thee not because I mean thee no harm.'" Ophilia spoke gently.

"Woah, Rosaline's been tasked to kill the dragon but in reality she just wants to befriend it!"

Smiling to himself at Alfyn's response, Kit set up the next sentence so that Primrose would be able to speak as the Princess afterwards. He saw how she and Cyrus watched each other as the dragon and Princess interacted and he couldn't help but want to see which direction they took the story.

"Slowly approaching what she believed to be the source of the echo, Rosaline spoke softly."

"'For I was once a dragon just like thee, a hideous, lonesome beast who jumpthed from cave to cave, neveren wanting to ben seen.'"

"When next the dragon spoke, his voice was confounded."

"'A dragon, just liken me?'"

"'How didst thou breaken the curse?'"

H'aanit looked over her shoulder and gave Alaic a stern look. He grinned.

"Rosaline castened her eyes downwards."

"'There wast a man.'"

"Isn't there always..." Tressa rolled her eyes.

"'As unsightly ast I was, the man saw who I hast once been.'"

"'Underen his guidance and care, I soon founden myself shortening, my face transformening.'"

"Slowly, the Princess rounded the corner and saw him."

"Low to the ground with his wings spread wide, the dragon wagged his tail as the Princess approached."

Primrose spoke in the softest voice, her eyes seemingly unfocussed in front of her, but Kit could see who they focussed on. Kit could see that he also focussed on her.

"'What do I call thee, majestic beast?'"

"'I wast once called..."

"Silas." Kit offered the name to the knight, watching as Primrose and Cyrus nodded in agreement.

"'I wast once called Silas, a village peasant oft no aclaim.'"

"Whence the dragon spoke this time, he did not roar, he did not bellow smoke."

"He only lowered his head to the ground and watched as the Princess approached."

"Storening her shield once again, Rosaline approachth'd cautiously."

Cyrus looked Primrose square in the eye as he spoke. "'I cannot love thee like that man lovéd me. I cannot break thee from thy most painful curse.'"

"'But I can stayen with thee.'" Primrose interrupted the normal flow of the story to speak as the Princess. "'I can helpth thee assuage thy lonliness. I can tell thee stories. I can helpth thee love in a more loving way.'"

"Primrose, that's cheating!" Tressa shouted once she'd finished speaking as Rosaline. "It was my turn!"

"Ah," still smiling at Cyrus, Primrose apologised. "I got a bit carried away there. I guess I'm 'out'."

"Indeed, I also let my desire to tell a story get away with me and said two sentences rather than one." Cyrus lowered himself against the wall again. "I suppose, I too, am 'out'."

He knew he should've been listening, he knew he should've been paying attention to this game he'd proposed, but Kit seriously lost interested after Cyrus and Primrose were gotten 'out'. When it came to his turn, he feigned tiredness and asked to be left out from now, all the while watching the scholar and dancer exchange looks as the story continued to develop.

In time, the Princess started to take the dragon into town, started to make him human again, but Kit knew that wasn't how this story ended.

No, it ended with the dragon helping the princess past the pain of losing her lover, past the pain of transforming from something she knew into something the world had required her to be. In the end, the Princess helped the dragon to accept his solitary nature, she helped him realise that love was a spectrum, it needn't be only intimacy or platonic. It needn't switch from one side to the other without time for it to grow and blossom in between.

All around him tonight were couples, new and old, intimate and caring. But, Kit was still young. Though his parents had met as children, he knew that some people wouldn't meet their partner until much later in life and he was more than happy to wait for the person who would bring the purest happiness to his world. But, though he didn't know them all that well, he knew that Cyrus and Primrose weren't so sure that pure love was in their future.

He hoped this story had changed that. He hoped they could see what they meant to one another now.

Eventually, the story concluded with an improbable dragon/princess marriage and the group decided it was time for them to get some sleep. With the fire gently bobbing in the hearth, the group of travellers fell asleep on their partners, Kit and Primrose slept on their chairs, and Cyrus stayed up to improbable hours reading.

* * *

It wasn't long after midnight that Kit awoke. The air around him was cold, yet the fire still happily burned in the fireplace; the silence in the room was as unwelcoming as before, yet there was something different enough about it to wake him.

Finally opening his eyes, he immediately noticed Cyrus wasn't in his spot next to the fireplace – that the silence had changed because he was no longer sat in the corner turning the pages of his book. It didn't take him long to locate the scholar, just feet from where he'd been sat, stood in the doorway that lead further into the manse.

By his side, the lady of the house wore his cloak about her shoulders, chatting to him so softly that Kit couldn't hear the words they were exchanging. Not that he needed to hear their conversation. Not that he needed to know anything more than that they were with one another.

Steorra's day had been and gone for yet another year, but it appeared the Goddess was still working Her loving magic on those who needed it most.


	41. Lost Light

_It's not been an easy decision for me to make, but after a rough week of both work being insanely stressful and serious loss of inspiration in all my stories, I've decided to put Travel On on hold for a little while._

 _I don't know how long for - for all I know I might be hit by a lightning bolt of inspiration on Wednesday and be back here next weekend, though I'd very much doubt it - but I promise I'll be back eventually._

 _If you've requested a story, I promise I'll write it - but it's not going to be anytime soon. I've still got so many stories in me to tell, so many things I want to see the travelers do, that I know I won't be completely satisfied until they're all told. However, as this chapter will probably show, I just don't have it in me to tell them right at the moment._

 _I hope you understand and I want to thank you again for reading. I'll be back someday, I promise._

* * *

 _Requested/inspired by evoboo - enjoy!_

 _Tragedy: Mattias knew Lianna would make the perfect dark Flamebearer. Yet, her sister always seemed intent on always getting in the way of his plans._

* * *

Lost Light

"No!" Ophilia's hand flew to her chest, clutching at her robe. "Say it isn't so, Lianna!"

With her back to her sister, Lianna pulled the vial from her sleeve. He said it wouldn't hurt her. He said it would even make her feel better.

He told her she could bring her father back.

Dripping no more than two drops into her wine glass, Lianna quickly concealed the vial and turned to her sister - glasses in hand. "Here, have this."

"Thank you." Ophilia took the glass and immediately took a sip. Lianna's stomach twisted inward, but she did her best to keep her worry from registering on her face as she toyed with the stem of her own glass. "How, how are you coping?"

"I'm..." Lianna took a deep breath, willing her tears back yet again. During her journey from the Frostlands to the Coastlands, she'd cried more tears than any one person should ever shed; screamed more times in anguish than anyone ever should. And, she'd honestly thought she was doing better – she had a goal, she knew a way to bring him back.

However, she still had to break the news to Ophilia; she still had to go through with her end of the plan.

"I'm..." She'd told her sister to remain calm. Like anyone could remain calm at a time like this.

"Why..." Gripping her skirt in her fists, Lianna fought back the urge to scream yet again. "Why did he have to leave me? Why did he leave us…?"

"Anna," Ophilia stood up, her heart in her eyes as her arms flew open to catch her. "I'm still here."

Only, it wasn't Lianna who needed catching.

"I'm still… here..." Ophilia fell to her knees, eyes uncomprehendingly wide. As she looked into Lianna's face, it was clear she couldn't see her. It was clear she couldn't see anything. "My… Body..."

Unable to hold herself up, Ophilia fell face first into the floor, her hand at her heart again. All the while, Lianna just stood and watched – almost clinically detached from the situation, from the pain she'd inflicted on her sister as her heart convulsed.

"You're always so kind..." Lianna lent down next to her, feeling around her waist for the ember. "So I know you'll understand."

"Li… anna…" Her voice was muffled and almost gargly.

Pulling the Lanthorn from her sister's belt, Lianna lent back on her knees and stroked her hair gently. For a moment, it was almost like they were children again, taking care of one another when they were sick.

But, this time, there'd been no father to tend to them. No father to tell them all would be well again soon.

"I'm sorry. I need this ember, for Father."

"No… Anna… Wait..."

But Liana didn't stick around to hear her sister's last words. She didn't stay long enough to hear her beg and pray.

"Sorry, Phili." Instead, she stood and turned her back on her. She turned her back on the person who'd always been her ray of sunshine, her guiding light in a world that always felt a little too dark. "Goodbye."

Lianna unknowingly left her light to die with her sister in that room, unwittingly letting darkness take root in her heart.

* * *

Wispermill was somehow colder than the Frostlands and certainly less welcoming. Yet, the villagers worshipped her, the vassal of their Saviour. Their flamebearer.

But, with every step she'd taken away from Ophilia, that flame had grown ever darker. Even as Mattias placed it upon the pedestal, it continued to blaze an ever darker navy.

"What can the church do but offer you empty words? What can anyone else do but offer you worthless platitudes?" Mattias spoke to the gathered villagers, their Saviour when all had seemed lost.

Yet, Lianna couldn't hear him. She could hear anything but her own heart and the thoughts racing around her head.

Why hadn't Ophilia tried to stop her? Where was her sunshine?

"We can offer you so much more. With this flame, we can make your every wish come true!"

Liana had only one wish: for her family to be whole again. She wished to be by her father's side as they watched her sister complete the Kindling.

The ember grew darker. Someone in the crowd fainted.

"What is your wish, Lianna?" Mattias turned to her, that crazed smile on his face yet again.

There was only one thing her heart desired, only one thing she wanted more than anything else. "I just want to see him again."

"Then wish to with all your heart! Pray to see your father again!"

"I..." The ember wavered, fading back to ocean blue. This wasn't right. This isn't what he'd want. "Ophilia..."

"She can't hear you now, Lianna." Mattias said, oh so quietly. The entire crowd were face down on the ground now, completely immobile. A young blonde stood out from the rest, making Lianna's voice catch in her throat.

"What…?" Ophilia had been laying like that. She'd left her sister laying like that.

"She's no more of this world than your father is."

"No!" Lianna turned to Mattias suddenly, remembering what he'd said to her as he placed that vial in her hand.

" _If his Excellency drinks this, he'll be feeling hale and hearty in no time!" "Give your sister but a drop of this and her pain will simply wash away!"_

"You! You!" Her hand gripping her chest, Lianna realised the truth. Behind her, the flame turned purple. "You killed them!"

"Oh no, Lianna, I did no such thing." Mattias closed in on her, still speaking ever so softly as he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the ember. The Lanthorn she'd stolen from her sister. " _You_ were the one who gave your father that potion."

The cave grew so very cold as the black flame blazed up to the sky.

" _You_ were the one who gave Ophilia her drink."

Smokey tendrils flew from the Lanthorn, embracing Lianna, consuming her vision. Sapping away her spirit.

" _You_ killed them."

She screamed, frozen to the spot as something worse took over her body, as something forced her out of her own mind. Lianna screamed in pure anguish once again.

All the while, Mattias just laughed.


	42. Wash Away the Blood

_Travel On's not back for good yet. I still need a little more time to myself before I can return and do the stories I want to write justice._

 _That said, after the announcement of Octopath mobile yesterday (Gods, I hope it comes west!) I was once again hit by a desire to do something Octopathy. And so, I wrote a story I've wanted to write for quite a while - a story I'd saved for a rainy day._

 _I hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope to be back properly soon!_

 _And, as always, thanks for reading!_

* * *

 _Forever haunted by the murder of his beloved, Ogen's always looking for a way to wash his hands of her blood._

* * *

Wash Away the Blood

It'd been ten years since he last stepped foot in Northreach; ten years since his beloved's death. He'd been travelling alone for a decade. He'd spent all those long, lonely years looking for a way to atone for his sins.

So, perhaps, that was why sitting in one place felt so wrong. Perhaps that was why he was already looking for an excuse to leave town again, to leave Melyssa behind again.

Tracing the rim of his tankard with his index finger, elbows on the tavern bar, Ogen lost himself to his worrisome thoughts once again.

For years, he'd been looking for a way out of this hell that his life had become. For years, he'd done nothing more than wander from one village to the next, healing their sick for only enough coin to get some food on his plate and a roof over his head before he headed out yet again. And somedays, it felt like he'd been living this way forever.

When he'd first returned to Northreach, Ogen could hardly believe he'd once lived in this cold, arid town. It was becoming harder and harder for him to remember the time he'd spend with Melyssa, the time he'd spent as a stationary apothecary in this town. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to remember a time when this town had felt warm.

He bowed his head even lower as the door to the tavern opened, bracing himself for the chill wind blast and the memories that would soon rise to haunt him yet again.

The scent of iron, the sight of red, the never ending wail that had escaped his lips as he felt to his knees in their doorway… Then the next scent of iron, the next mass pool of red… The heat as it had splashed against his face, the ringing in his ears as his brain begged him to stop…

The pool of water that had turned bright red as soon as he'd sat in it, staining him even more. Telling him he'd never be able to wash away his sins. Telling him it was his fault that Melyssa died.

All of them came back in such clarity that he was suddenly having trouble breathing. Panic took him over, tightening his chest, increasing the beating of his heart as he struggled to think of anything other than the sight of blood on his hands yet again.

Then there was a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a familiar voice bringing him back to reality and the tankard in his trembling hand. "Ogen?"

"What do you want, Alfyn?" He asked his fellow apothecary curtly, tankard at his lips as he looked at him out the corner of his eye.

"Just checkin' up is all," Alfyn smiled at him as the bartender brought him his own tankard. "It's an apothecary's duty to check in on their patients, after all."

"Last I checked, I wasn't your patient."

Alfyn shrugged. "Perhaps not, but I was worried about all the same."

 _Why worry about me?_ Ogen found himself thinking before chuckling a little darkly to himself. "So, you decided to travel all the way to Northreach _just_ to check up on me? Forgive me for finding that a little hard to swallow."

"No point beatin' 'round the bush, is there?" Alfyn mumbled before sitting upright and turning to face Ogen fully. "My friends and I need your help-"

"Not interested." Ogen said flatly, not even looking up from his drink. Sure, perhaps he did owe the kid for saving his life – not that he _wanted_ it saved in the first place – but he'd heard this little group of his was the reason this town was no longer under the influence of thieves. That, apparently, Whispermill had been liberated from their religious insanity thanks to Alfyn's group of travelers.

He might not care for his life all that much, but he'd recently made a promise to Melyssa to keep on living. And travelling with these idiots seemed like all too easy a way to break that promise.

Still, Alfyn continued explaining why they needed him all the same. "One of our other friends – Kit – recently got taken to former Hornburg..."

Suddenly, Alfyn had Ogen's full attention again. With a rare look of intensity on his face, Ogen practically leaned in Alfyn's every word as he explained that the legendary Gate of Finis resides in former Hornburg, the place where a woman named Lyblac had apparently taken Kit.

As he listened, Ogen once again realised these kids had no idea the trouble – the danger – that was waiting for them in former Hornburg. They had no idea Kit was Graham's kid, no clue that Lyblac was the woman Graham had been following when Ogen had met him all those years ago.

They had no idea Lyblac was trying to raise Galdera. They had no idea they were on a quest to stop her.

"You still don't wanna help?" Alfyn asked at the end of his explanation, his face halfway between playful grin and intense worry.

"...I won't hurt anyone." Ogen said with assurance, neither confirming nor denying his want to help the lad out.

"I hope we won't need to!" Alfyn laughed. "But, on the off chance that we do, we're gonna need all the healers we can get. Ophilia and I just won't cut it if the Gate's as bad as she claims."

Once again, Ogen sat in silence for a few moments, tracing the rim of his tankard.

He'd promised Melyssa he'd live on. He'd promised her he wouldn't put himself in any unnecessary danger. And going to save a Crossford from the Gate of Finis sounded like a lot of unnecessary danger and a good way to get yourself killed.

"Come on, old man!" Alfyn suddenly exclaimed, making his fellow apothecary jump. "I know as well as you do that you wanna wash your hand of all your past mistakes. Comin' on an adventure that could potentially lead to the savin' of the world from the Dark God sounds like a pretty good way to wash away the blood on your hands to me!"

Alfyn… had a point, he had to admit. Looking down at his calloused old hands, Ogen once again saw blood. Bloody hair in his hands as he cradled his wife… A bloody axe handle in his hands as he brought it down against her assailant again… Blood caught in the creases of his palms that seemed to never wash out…

But, he also saw the blood from the wounds of all the people he'd saved. The blood that had made the guilt of killing a man just a little less heavy a burden.

He saw how much more blood would be on his hands if this group of Alfyn's failed because he wasn't there to heal and help.

Finally turning to look the other man in the eye, Ogen grinned. "Let me finish my drink before we leave."


	43. Small Boys

_And Travel On's back!_

 _I know saying that on April Fools day might make a few people sceptical, but I really do intend to be back for good this time! I'm at least back for April - the rest of this month's chapters are in the editing process now and will be uploaded at the usual time on Saturdays._

 _Again, I cannot thank any of you enough for bearing with me as I took time away to get my head back on straight. Taking almost a month off from writing has really allowed me to not only come back with fresh eyes, but to also figure out just what it is I want to do with this collection of stories. To that end, I wanted to mention a couple of minor changes that are going to take place:_

 _Firstly, I'm no longer going to take requests. If you've made one, it's in the works - I promise this time! Otherwise, the only requesty things I'll be taking from now will be asking you to let me know if there are certain characters you want to see interact more or certain ships you want to see sail. That way, I can incorporate them into stories I'm already writing. It's easier for me this way and stops that guilt trippy part of my brain from stopping me from writing altogether because I haven't written someones request yet. (I hope that makes sense!)_

 _And secondly, because I'm flat out with work and real life, I won't be doing 'make up chapters' after tragedies anymore. I just don't have the time, unfortunately. Instead, I will now be scheduling my tragedies for the last Saturday of the month for the time being, so you'll know when to expect them. Equally, I won't be doing any week long pieces like Valentines week because, my god, that nearly killed my want to write! One offs for certain holidays - like the previous Halloween and Christmas stories, or like this April Fools one - are still going to happen, provided I have the time to write them!_

 _There's really so much more I could (and want to) say, but I've gone on for quite long enough. So, again, thank you for bearing with me and apologies for taking so long to come back! I feel much better now and have certainly seen an improvement in my stories as a result of this long break!_

 _I really hope you enjoy this April Foolsy chapter!_

* * *

 _Cyrus really does look awfully short without his heels on… (Heels pt. 2)_

* * *

Small Boys

He'd made it another month.

Against all odds, Cyrus managed to evade all of Therion's claims that he was short. Against all odds, the group he travelled with still believed him over the thief.

He just wasn't sure how much longer that belief would persevere.

Every evening, they'd all retire to the local inn and the good professor would have to make excuses for why he still wore his heels. Every night, he'd make excuses to study into the wee hours of the next morning; to be awake long after the ever-trying-to-prove-his-point Therion had finally succumbed to sleep. Every morning, he'd have to wake before those he shared a room with to ensure he was fully dressed – and shoed – before they woke and saw him in only his socks.

Exhausted and wore down by the thief's constant insistence that he was short, Cyrus had almost slipped up many times these past few days and given in.

Still, he – and his heels – persevered.

Until the first day of the next month.

It'd been a day of intelligence and resource gathering in village much like any other. Tressa and Alfyn were off in one part of town making friends and buying their produce while Cyrus talked the ear off other villagers as Therion stole their purse. Made cynical in his exhaustion, the good professor didn't even bother arguing with Primrose when she'd ordered them out of the inn on their 'missions'. Instead, he simply steeled his will and followed the young thief around town as he picked out the weak from the herds.

"How you holding up, Small Boy?" Therion asked Cyrus after another successful robbery and an unsuccessfully stifled yawn.

"Just a little tired is all, Smaller boy." Cyrus forced a smile.

"A 'little' tired?" He raised his eyebrow with a rather wicked grin.

The Professor swore. He was rightfully tired and fed up of Therion's tricksy games to make him out as the smallest boy in their travelling group, but that didn't really justify him grabbing the thief by the scarf, getting close to his face and telling him what he _really_ thought of the lad.

"Make me tired, make me wish I could just give into my pride all you want, Therion, but I _will_ win this war. I will _not_ let you paint me short, I will _not_ let you gain the upper hand. I _will_ _not_ let you beat me. And, no matter how much you tell the others the truth, they will _always_ believe a scholar before they believe a thief."

Wide eyed in shock at Cyrus talking to him so harshly – and too busy staring Therion down to realise anyone else around – neither of the men noticed Alfyn and Tressa coming up to the two of them.

"Steady on there, guys!" Alfyn ran up to them and broke them apart with his ever present grin. "Stand too close and H'aanit'll get ideas that'll cost me a lotta leaves!"

"Ah, quite." Cyrus let go of Therion, brushed his cloak down, and put on his best smile for the pair. "Quite sorry about that, Therion. I don't know what came over me!"

Still a little dumbstruck by the encounter, Therion simply stood in place, wide eyed in complete disbelief.

"Come on, Small Boy!" Tressa looped her arm in his and skipped on pass the other two men. "Don't just stand there, we've got a surprise for you back at the inn!"

"You do?" Irrationally, a pit came to Cyrus' stomach.

"Yeah! You're going to love it, Professor!"

The pit fell even deeper. Quite suddenly, Cyrus felt like he was going to vomit.

They'd found out. They knew his secret.

They knew he was short.

When they arrived back at the inn, they were greeted by the other four travellers – and Linde - standing rather imposingly and disapprovingly in the common room. Everyone knew something was wrong when Ophilia had a scowl on her face.

"You've been lying to us, Professor." She said in a flat tone, her eyes like flint.

"I have?" He couldn't mask the tremble in his voice, the contortion of fear on his already exhausted face.

"Thou hast." H'aanit nodded, a wall of terrifyingly tall muscle to the side of the cleric, made even more terrible by Linde baring her fangs at her knee. "I thoughten thy only secret wast hidden deepst in thy closet. However, I appearen to best mistaken."

"Indeed," Olberic agreed, shaking his head in disappointment. "It appears you hide your true secret in your shoe rack."

 _So, this is how it ends._ He'd had a good run. He'd managed to avoid nicknames for nearly three moons now, most would think that plenty long enough. But, now it appeared it was time for him to either accept his fate or find a new group to travel with.

"You're short, Cyrus." Said Primrose, her eyes glaring in profound disappointment.

With the pit in his stomach falling to record lows, Cyrus' fate was sealed.

"You believe me?!" Therion exclaimed, the look of such complete shock on his face raising the pit in Cyrus' stomach. How did the little thief not know they believed him?

"Of course we do, Therion!" Tressa smiled up at him, a twitch in the side of her lip and a glance to the side that completely gave her away.

Something was going on here.

"Yeah, we believed ya all along, bud!" Alfyn wrapped his arm around Therion's shoulder, looking over his own long enough to drop what Cyrus could only assume was a wink to the other travellers. Primrose rather resolutely stomped her foot down on Olberic's toes as he brought a gloved hand to his mouth to hide his grin.

Confusion very plain on his features, Cyrus looked around his companions in complete befuddlement. Until it dawned on him. Quite visibly dawned on him, in fact, as he widened his eyes and alleviated the pit in his stomach.

It was the first of the month today. It was the day of the Fool.

And his companions were waiting for him to make a fool of the thief.

With a sly smile, Cyrus sighed rather theatrically. "How troublesome, it appears I've finally been caught in my ever entangling web of lies! However did you figure out the truth?"

"That's rather obvious, isn't it, _Professor_?" Therion smirked a twisted little grin up at Cyrus, throwing his own words back at him. "Who would ever believe a scholar over a thief?"

"Who indeed?" What Therion couldn't see was the smiles on their friends faces, their desperation to not laugh outright at the small boy. It was time to put them out of their misery. "But, tell me, No-Longer-Small Boy, what day is it today?"

"The first of the month?" The thief looked up at him in complete incomprehension. "Are you going senile as well as shrinking?"

Electing to ignore that comment, Cyrus persisted. "Right. But today has a name doesn't it? A name right on the tip of my tongue..."

Therion's eye widened as he stumbled back a step in shock. It appeared that Cyrus had successfully transferred that bothersome pit onto someone else. "The day of the Fool..."

"Fooled ya!" Tressa shouted at Therion as the rest of the group erupted into laughter. Even Linde grinned.

Removing his arm from around the thief's shoulder, Alfyn ruffled the top of Therion's head. "Sorry, Small Boy, but you make yourself such an easy target!"

"But-"

"Come on, it's nearly dinner time." Ophilia said between giggles, clearly wanting to rid Therion of his embarrassment but enjoying it just as much as the rest of them.

"Indeed, there wilt be plenty of time to teaseth Therion later." H'aanit agreed, scratching Linde's ear as they both chuckled.

Bringing up the rear of the group as they made their way to the dining hall, Cyrus breathed an audible sigh of great relief as Therion breathed one of complete frustration and borderline sorrow.

"Why won't they believe me?"

"Because," Cyrus whispered, completely mercilessly considering Therion's frustration and humiliation was entirely his own making. "No one will ever believe a thief over a scholar."

He glared. "I'll get you one day, you know."

Cyrus smiled. "Best of luck."


	44. What's in a Word?

_I don't think I've ever mentioned my belief that H'aanit and Z'aanta are loosely based on Polgara and Belgarath of the Belgariad/Malloreon series on here before. (If you're a fantasy fan, I absolutely recommend those series. They might be tropey and cliche as all hell, but they have some of the best, most loveable, fully realised characters I've ever had the pleasure of reading and travelling with.)_

 _However, I have mentioned this belief a few times on Twitter. And, the last time I mentioned this, the lovely evoboo replied something to the affect of, 'Well, at least their relationship isn't like Pol's and Beldin's!' (For those who haven't read the books, theses two characters call each other progressively crasser and cruder names as a sign of affection.)_

 _So, thanks once again to evoboo for, perhaps unintentionally, giving me another story idea! I hope everyone enjoys it!_

* * *

 _Therion and H'aanit never quite figured out how best to communicate with one another._

* * *

What's in a Word?

"Eat another sweetbread and you'll find yourself bigger than a Portly Penguin in the morning."

"And maken more comments liken that, and thou wilt find thyself withouten thy tongue whenst the sun rises."

Ophilia sighed as she lead the two deeper into the Stillsnow wilds and towards the village. It hadn't been too long since this unlikely pair had arrived in Flamesgrace, asking around for a woman known as a Suzanna or a man going by the name Darius. Realising the two had arrived at the southernmost Frostland town when they had meant to travel to the two north, Ophilia had taken up her staff to helpfully show them the way, not realising the mess she was walking into.

"All I'm saying," Therion announced as the trio and Linde found themselves swarmed by wolves. "Is that if you keep eating those sweets of yours you'll find yourself too big to fight soon. You're already rather curvy."

"And allst _I_ am saying, is that if thou doesn't shuten up soon," H'aanit deftly shot two arrows into two different wolves paws to drive them away. "I wilt cutten out thy tongue and feedest it to Linde."

Linde growled at the thief, baring her fangs.

By this point, Ophilia knew to leave the two well enough alone. The first time she'd heard Therion call H'aanit a lazy boar, she'd tried to step in to protect her new friend from such ugly terms. Instead, she found herself speechless when the hunter had responded by calling the thief a rotten vulture, a scavenger with no skills other than to pick on those who had already been injured.

And it hadn't taken much more than that conversation to convince the cleric that there was little need for her to mitigate in their arguments. Evidentially, they weren't even arguments, just their regular conversations. Because some people are just incapable of communicating like normal human beings, or even normal animals.

"Methinks thou dost protest too much."

"And _I_ thinken thou needst watche thy mouth else I might shoten thee with mine arrow next."

To begin with, she'd thought that maybe it'd be best to show these two the way to the northern towns and then leave them to their own devices so that she wouldn't have to listen to their foul language towards one another. Now, she kind of wanted to see them to their journeys end.

"Like you can see well enough to aim straight with your old eyes."

"Liken thou wouldst stayen in one placen long enoughe for mine arrow to strike thee, figgity bastarde."

Because, now she knew the truth behind their horrid words and angry expressions.

"Are you truly so incompetent a huntress that you can't even lead an arrow, old hag?"

"Are thou truly so unsure a thief that thou must be movening at all times, flat-footed burglar?"

The arguing stopped yet again as they fought back a horde of Hoary Bears and waited for Ophilia to finish healing a sizeable scratch on Therion's arm. All the while, H'aanit watched on with clear worry in her eyes, angry words dying behind her lips.

Because, the truth was, these two cared for each other dearly. It had taken Ophilia far, far too long to see it, to understand what the pair were so clearly communicating with one another beneath their angry words. Since she and Lianna had always been so open with one another, so loving and gentle, Ophilia hadn't realised their were other ways of showing siblingly affection.

"Ben more careful," H'aanit scolded the thief as they carried on towards the village of Stillsnow. "… Rotten cur."

"I'm not making any promises," Therion grinned up at her, an attempting to be malicious grin that was marred by his compassion towards her. "… Mangy cow."

H'aanit shoved her shoulder against his with such force that the thief fell to the floor. Once down, he rolled rather deftly to the side and formed a snowball to throw at the huntress. Immediately, the two fell into a snowball war that lost an hours worth of trecking through the snow. Once again, Ophilia was beginning to see why it had taken a week to travel from the Cliftlands to the Frostlands, a journey that should've taken no more than four days. Once again, she was surprised that the two had yet to push one another off a cliff.

Instead of joining in the fight, Ophilia pulled out a blanket and sat down, waiting for the two (and Linde) to finish acting like children so they could carry on. Even from where she sat, now metres away from their snowball fight, she could still hear the expletives they shouted at one another, the names that had once made her blanch as pale as the snow or blush as bright as a cherry.

Now, she just heard the laughter behind them, the masked love behind their every insult as they tried to avoid telling one another that they cared, that they didn't want to part ways as soon as their journey was over.

Yes, it had taken a week to travel from Flamesgrace to nearly Stillsnow, but Ophilia wouldn't have changed that week for the world. She was so glad to have met this eclectic pair, a pair that had taught her there was more to a word than its traditional meaning.

But, by Aelfric, she _wished_ they could just get to the next town already!


	45. Another Mountain Town

_With his home lost and people dead, Olberic wandered the Highlands, ever in search of a town that wouldn't recognise his face._

* * *

Another Mountain Town

It took Olberic a week to leave Hornburg after its fall.

First came a day of laying in the mud as an oh so prophetic storm raged overhead, as the last of Erhardt's traitorous army pillaged the dead and stole what little food the camps had left. First came a day of Olberic lying face down in the mud, covered in cuts from his 'partner's' sword, begging for them to be fatal, begging every God to allow death to claim him so he wouldn't have to live with his failure.

Yet, when the sun rose the next morning, Olberic was already wandering around what was left of the barracks, looking for anything that even remotely resembled food. In the end, he had to travel down the hill into the monstrous goat territories to hunt for his meal. And, by the time the sun set, he roasted the goat over coals – coved in fresh cuts – and pondered what in Orsterra he was going to do about his fallen comrades.

Already rained on and half chewed by eager vultures, he doubted it would be much longer until they started to rot, attracting monsters far worse than the current scavengers. Yes, he'd have to bury them soon. But there were so many… So many faces he never wanted to see painted white with death, so many bodies he never wanted to see cleaved clear in half by his former comrade's blade…

Waking with the sun the next morning, Olberic tore more meat off his goat and settled into a day of burying his friends. He made the mistake of starting with his King.

For what felt like hours, Olberic simply knelted before his liege, apologising over and over as tears fell freely down his cheeks. What right did he have to continue to wear his colours? What right had he to continue to carry the blade he'd gifted him, a blade that couldn't save his life?

What right had he to live when everyone he'd fought with had died? When everyone he'd sworn to protect had been killed by the blade of one he'd trained?

Eventually, he pulled himself together enough to return to the barracks in search of new clothes, in search of a tunic he had the right to wear. With his old blue outfit traded in for a slightly shaggy tunic, Olberic returned to bury his king in clothes he felt were more suited to a failure such as he.

Though he toyed with the idea of marking his liege's grave with something to suitably signify his royalty, Olberic eventually decided to simply leave it unmarked. He didn't exactly want to invite thieves and pillagers to the grave of a monarch, after all.

Still, while he left his King's grave bare, Olberic marked every other grave he dug with the sword or shield of his dearly departed friend. And, though he worked tirelessly for two days and two nights, he still wasn't able to bury them all.

By the morning of the fifth day after the collapse of his very world, Olberic grew restless. A new goat over his shoulder, he returned to the Kingdom he had once protected yet again and saw just how many more bodies he had yet to bury anew.

There must've still been a hundred or so of his former comrades lying – half picked clean by vultures – in the mud and the stench of death in the air was finally becoming too much to handle.

He needed to leave this place. The Gods clearly wanted him to carry on – though for what purpose, he didn't yet know – but he could hardly carry on when he was being so constantly haunted by the ghosts of his past, the ghosts of those he had been so incapable of saving.

So, that fifth day, Olberic tore as many barracks apart as he could, dulling his sword as he chopped down trees and piled all the wood into an expansive pyre.

On the sixth day, he took on the grim duty of finding all those bodies he had yet to bury and piling them onto his burning pyre. The scent of death clung to the simple clothes he wore, the mournful caw of the vultures overhead growing ever louder as he piled their food into the fire. Olberic never looked as he threw friends into the flames, never watched as their skin started to cook or peel off from bone. He ignore the animal part of his brain that told him they smelt like pork, that they smelt far more appetising than the stringy goat he'd been eating for the better part of a week.

And, as the moon rose high over head, Olberic left his former home – the only home he remember having – with a pocket full of goat jerky, a small pouch holding his familiar blue robes and the handful of leaves the thieves had missed over his shoulder, his blade ever at his side.

Where he'd go next, he'd yet to decide. But, by Brand, stepping down the mountain and out of death ridden former Hornburg felt better than he'd expected.

Soon, he could smell air unpolluted by the decaying smell of his former friends. Soon, he could see sights unmarred by crude graves or yet-to-be-buried bodies.

And, by the time the sun rose a week after the fall of his Kingdom, Olberic was finally out of its boarders and wondering where he might travel to next.

His warrior's brain was telling him to hunt down Erhardt and make him suffer the way he had, to ask him why he'd killed the King and betrayed his home. However, the more rational part of his brain told him it might be prudent to wait a while before hunting down his comrade to avoid acting rashly.

So, opting for rationality, Olberic next pondered which town he should travel to. Which town he should next call 'home'.

But, what was a home without someone to protect? What would it be like living in a town that knew him not as the Unbending Blade, but simply Olberic the Swordhand?

Then it occurred to him that most of the bigger towns – and even some of the smaller villages – nearby would recognise him, brown robed or otherwise. Everhold would certainly know his face, which ruled out travelling there and having to face their anger. Stoneguard was also close by, but they too would recognise him and ask him questions he didn't particularly want to answer.

Quickly ticking off the other towns he knew of nearby in these mountains, Olberic gravely admitted to himself that he might have to travel further afield to find a village that wouldn't know him on sight. As he continued to weave his way amongst the mountains he'd always called home, the warrior ran through a catalogue of places he'd not visited as Hornburg's knight, becoming ever more worried as he realised there weren't all that many.

He supposed he could try his luck in the Woodlands, he'd not been there in a few years… But then, even S'warkii would recognise his face since he'd once recruited its master hunter. The Flatlands was ever a possibility, but the close proximity to the scholars in Atlasdam would put whatever disguise he wore at risk. The Riverlands could work… Though, noble families with deep ties to Hornburg lived there and in the Clifflands as well…

Lost in thought, Olberic almost didn't hear the wails for help from a pair of villagers half a mile up the path. Snapping back to reality as he instinctively drew his sword, Olberic charged up the road to protect the screaming pair from… A Ratkin.

Still, saving a person's – or two persons in this case – life was a noble cause. Even if it was just from one, low rank Ratkin with a tiny knife.

"Thank ye, Sir," one villager breathed as the monster fell to the floor. The other had his hands on his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath. "If ye hadn't've come along jus' now, we'd've been rat meat fer sure!"

"How can we repay ye, Sir?" The other villager asked, standing up straight as Olberic sheathed his sword and knelt next to the monster. "We ain't got much gold, but our village makes the best goat cheese this side o' Stoneguard!"

"Thank you all the same, gentlemen," Olberic said as he stole the Ratkin's purse and pocketed it, keeping his face turned away from the villagers he'd saved. "But I am afraid I must decline your offer."

"Ye got somewhere ye t' be?" The first villager asked, looking over at the sun setting between the hills. "'Cause, if not, ye might as well stay fer the night."

"Good food and a good bed can do wonders fer yer health, Sir." The other man said, looking pointedly at the tattered rag end poking out the bottom of Olberic's sleeve that had been acting as a bandage for one of the wounds Erhardt had inflicted.

Sighing, Olberic looked the two men in the eye, showing them his face and searching for any sign of recognition. Relieved when he saw none, Olberic stood tall again and offer them his purse – and the purse he'd stolen from the Ratkin. "Very well, but I insist on paying my bills."

"There's no need to do that, yer Lordship!" The first Villager declined the purse as the second chuckled with him, already walking the cobbled path back to their home. "Ye saved our lives afta all!"

Putting his purse back on his belt, Olberic decided to quash the 'sirs' and 'lordships' before they got worse. "I did what anyone swordsman worth his sword would do. I do not deserve your praise nor your kindness when I was only performing my… duty."

Yet, he had no purpose nor duty anymore. He was a simple travelling sword now, worth no more than his blade and his ability to swing it. It was quite the humbling realisation for the former right-hand of an entire Kingdom.

"A mercenary?" The villager asked in shock. "Don't get many o' those 'round these parts!"

"Perhaps ye could help us wit' our bandit problem, Sir," the second villager asked before immediately backtracking. "That is, if yer don't mind bein' paid only in meals and a clean bed to sleep on. And, if ye don't have anywhere else t' be, 'course."

For the first time in nearly two weeks, a small smile came to Olberic's face as they started up the stairs into a village he'd never seen before, had never known existed. "Nay, I am no swordsman, just a refugee of war getting by with what little skills I have."

They both sighed in disappointment that he wasn't something more exciting.

"However," he smiled again as the scents of the village dinner started to assault his nose. The smell of meat other than goat or pig hit him all at once and he was quite suddenly ravenous. "If you think I could be of assistance in helping rid your village from bandits, I will happily offer you my blade."

"Thank ye, friend!" They both thanked Olberic as they arrived in their little village. Small houses dotted the hills, sheep grazed on what little grass they could find and chickens clucked behind fences that stray cats were clearly trying their best to break. A pair of youths sparred with fake weapons in the square under the watchful eye of the village headsman, a small boy sat on the bench to the side watch the 'duel' in clear excitement, a glint in his eye that Olberic knew all too well.

That boy wanted to fight, to protect those he loved.

Olberic knew how he felt.

"What is this place called?" Olberic asked the first villager as the second ran off to fetch the Headsman.

"Well, we've always called it Cobbleston, don't know that it has a 'official' name."

"I thought I knew every town and village in this hills..." Olberic muttered, mostly to himself as he watched the headsman turn to look at him, hoping for all the world that he wouldn't recognise him. That his fantasies of staying in this quaint village until he healed wouldn't be dashed by one man knowing his name.

"We're quite off the map here, friend, don't get many travellers." The villager started to walk down the stairs, gesturing for Olberic to follow. "Looks like the headsman wants t' meet ya."

They stopped in the square and suddenly Olberic panicked, certain that – with all the villages eyes suddenly on him – someone would recognise him and send him packing for being such a terrible knight and protector.

Instead, they looked at him in a kind of awe. Evidentially, that first villager had been right, they really didn't get many travellers passing through this place if he was commanding so much attention after simply saving two men from one Ratkin.

"I hear this village owes you a debt of gratitude, Sir…?"

Olberic panicked as the Headman smiled at him, realising he had no fake name prepared for this moment. Realising that this place really didn't recognise him. So, he plucked the first name he could think of out of thin air, hoping for the best. "Berg, my Goodman. My name is Berg, though I certainly command none of your praise nor flattering titles. I am simply a wandering sword."

"Well, we thank you for wandering to our aid, Berg." The headsman thanked him. Behind him, Olberic could see the boy from earlier eyeing his blade, clear wonder and excitement in his eyes. A little wistfully, Olberic found himself hoping that he'd been in this village long enough to teach that boy how to wield a blade, how to fight to protect those he cared for.

Perhaps he'd even do a better job than he had.

Perhaps Olberic had wandered into a forgetful little village that could act as more than a stopping off point before he headed elsewhere...


	46. As the Buds Blossom

_This story's based both on a request by lovely Ally Nicole Rose and on the idea of a spring dance to celebrate the pagan festival of Ostara. However, since Ostara was a this time last month and I didn't have the chapter ready for it, I've decided to upload it for Easter instead (since Easter's the Christian/modern festival of Ostara anyway)._

 _Thanks for the request Ally Nicole Rose, I hope you like it!_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _When the petals dance from the trees and the air is full of flowers and love, the Flatlands hold their annual dance._

* * *

As the Buds Blossom

Trepidation seeped into every fibre of Primrose's being as she and the group she travelled with crossed the Frostland/Flatland boarder. A nervous tingling continued to run up and down her spine at the thought of returning to her home town, of seeing sights she'd not seen for nearly a decade.

How had the town changed? Was it still as serene and peaceful as she remembered? Were the roses still blossoming, the markets still booming?

Would they remember her?

Every possible worrisome thought ran rampant in her mind, chasing after one another in an unbreakable chain of panic. So, to distract herself from this constant worry, Primrose turned her attention to those she travelled with and the ongoing task of playing matchmaker to them.

Of course, they didn't know about her little plot to pair them all off with one another, they hadn't noticed how her tiny suggestions and subtle changes to their routines had slowly allowed them to spend more time with those they clearly cared for.

H'aanit hadn't paid any attention to the fact that Primrose had suggested that Olberic might be stronger than she was other than to take it as a challenge, a test to prove that she was still the strongest of their group. And Olberic certainly didn't notice anything more to Primrose's suggestion that H'aanit bakes the best food ever tasted other than the implication that the huntress' breads were better than Hornburg's.

Neither warrior nor huntress noticed that they were spending more time with one another as a result of realising that they were each other's perfect sparring partner and taste tester. Not even Linde noticed the fact that her Mistress was baking more goods to impress the warrior; that Olberic was coming up with more excuses to spar with her so that they might spend more time together.

Meeting Ali again on a Woodland trail had allowed Primrose to make the slightest, innocent suggestion to the merchant that would allow her to see Tressa safely paired off. Nothing more than a simple "Would you like to travel to Grandport with us, Ali?" had set the merchant rivals off into a sweet – but very shouty – courtship.

Now, the two haggled every other merchant they came across, trying to get the best deal in a game that no one else could understand. Now, the pair walked side by side almost everywhere they travelled, seldom speaking to the other travellers other than to get their opinion of who'd won the last haggling war.

While both the merchants and fighters had proven easy to lead to each others arms, the other two potential couples she travelled with had proven quite the challenge to pair off. Subtle suggestions had fallen by the wayside in favour of outright saying "Wouldn't you rather take a turn around town with Cyrus than with me, Ophilia?" or "I suppose I could help you flatter that man into giving you the jewels you want, Therion, but wouldn't it be easier to ask Alfyn to cure him of his cold in exchange for them?"

It had taken quite some time for the dancer to convince them to turn to each other for aid rather than to her, but now that they did, she almost never saw them.

Every day off they took, Ophilia would now ask Cyrus if he'd like to take a turn around town with her or to tell her about its history. And the Professor would always be more than happy to oblige her requests, at first seeing it as an opportunity to impart his knowledge to her, but now seeing it as something more. The last few times they'd travelled around town together, it had been at Cyrus' asking, and to Ophilia's blushing delight.

By comparison, the thief and apothecary had taken so much longer to convince that they had feelings for one another. It was only last month that they both stopped coming to Primrose for help and guidance and now turned to one another. To begin with, Alfyn had been sceptical about using his apothecarial abilities to take valuables from those he cured, but he soon realised it was better than the alternative of Therion just taking stuff from people for nothing. Realising it wasn't exactly Alfyn's favourite thing to do, Therion now tended to scope out whatever town or village they were staying in alone to find those that were sick before inviting Alfyn along to heal them out of the good of his heart, not wanting him to compromise his own moral compass for the thief's sake.

It had been quite an interesting change in character for Primrose to witness, watching closely as Therion stopped using Alfyn to his own end in favour of simply spending time with him. And she was quite sure she wasn't the only one in their group who noticed the pair smiling a lot brighter with one another than they did with the others.

All in all, Primrose was quite happy with how her matchmaking had turned out so far.

However, what she hadn't accounted for, was how lonely she'd feel when they all started to spend time with one another rather than with her. While she would always be happy that she'd helped them find a happiness that they perhaps hadn't realised they'd been missing, she couldn't help but feel jealous.

She'd not felt that happy since she was a child in Noblecourt, staring out her window to watch the gardener's prentice trim the bushes.

Was he still there? Had he moved on? What would she say if she saw him? How could she explain her current attire, her loss of innocence as the world continued to break her?

Would he sing to her? Dance with her like no one's watching?

Would he still love her, in spite of everything?

Crossing her arms over her stomach in an attempt to stop the butterflies, the backflips and worries, Primrose stared dead ahead, watching as the snow broke and the blossoming trees started to come into view.

Soon, all she could smell were new blossoming flowers, all she could see was the lush greens of the land she'd grown up in. Soon, her travelling companions were all stretching in the sun, remarking about how much better it felt to be out of the snowy land.

But, at the fork in the road between the path to Atlasdam and the path to Noblecourt, something new assaulted their senses.

Loud, beautiful music flowed through the air, accompanied by the sounds of people laughing and the scents of fresh bakes goods. Petals flew through the air, dancing almost in time to the music as the group stopped and wondered what was going on.

"Oh, I almost forgot about the Flatland dance!" Cyrus suddenly announced, the first of the lot to realise what was going on.

"The what?" Tressa asked from the back of the group, launching the Professor into a mini lecture.

"Every year, to celebrate the coming of spring, all the villages and towns of the Flatlands come together on the plains outside of Noblecourt to dance in the new season. They'll bring their best produce and nicest clothes to show off to those they want to court. And, in the final dance of the night, couples and courting pairs will stand across from one another to dance. According to superstition, those that dance together at the end of the night will be together forever."

"What a lovely festival!" Ophilia exclaimed, clearly caught up in the romantic idea of the night.

"Quite," nodded Primrose, a slight devious look in her eye as she realised this was just the occasion she'd been looking for to finally solidify the couples she'd made. "Perhaps we should take a turn around the festival together."

"An excellent idea, my dear!" Cyrus nodded, leading the way to the celebrations. "Have you ever attended?"

"No. I can only assume this festival came about after I left Noblecourt."

"Now that you mention it, I do believe it's only five years old this year."

"Yet it already hast superstitions?" H'aanit asked in surprise.

"They are quick to form and slow to break." Olberic replied. "Rumour and superstitions were common in the barracks, I never knew a warrior not to follow them with all their heart."

"Wilt thou then ben participating in the dance?"

"I-" For perhaps the first time since they'd all stared travelling together, Primrose watched Olberic blush brighter than her dress as she hid her grin.

"Ooh! I think I will!" Tressa shouted to them from the back of the group. "Bet'll be a great experience for the diary!"

"You should really live for yourself, not just for your diary, Green Pea." Ali commented.

"Fine, I'll dance with someone else then."

"That's not what I-"

"I know you're all for superstitions, Therion," Primrose called over her shoulder at the thief, content in the knowledge that the others would all dance with one another tonight, but not so sure about the thief and apothecary. "Will you be dancing tonight?"

"Will you?" He called back. Though she didn't turn around, she knew he'd be blushing into his scarf, desperately trying to avoid Alfyn's eye.

"I have no one to dance with, Therion." She smiled to herself, knowing Alfyn would take care of the rest.

"I've never been to a proper dance before, y'know." Alfyn commented a little wistfully.

"Never?" Primrose asked, pushing the conversation along as the sounds of the festival got louder, the smells of the petals got stronger.

"Never. We don't have a big enough village to hold 'em back in Clearbrook. Not much of a dance when the only dancers would be me, Zeph, Gertas and Meryl. ...You ever been to a dance, Therion?"

"...Not as a dancer." He admitted, probably sinking deeper into his scarf if his muffled voice was any indication. "Darius and I stole some good food from a dancing festival once."

"Then I guess we can go to our first dance together tonight then!"

"Wait-"

That had been… a lot simpler than Primrose had thought. She'd expected to have lead the conversation a little more, pull them by the nose to get them to admit they wanted to dance together. She'd not expected Alfyn to jump in with both feet and solve her problem for her.

Evidently, her expertise as a matchmaker wasn't needed anymore.

Which really left her at a loose end when it came to figuring out what to do at the dance tonight.

Primrose had expected resistance, to have to flit between the potential couples like a manipulative little butterfly to get them to dance with each other tonight. Yet, they'd managed to take care of that problem all by themselves; she'd barely had to help them at all.

So, what was she meant to do to keep her worries at bay now?

* * *

As soon as they arrived at the festival, everyone went their separate ways. Olberic, H'aanit and Linde weaved their way through the crowds to try every different baked good they could get their hands on while Ali and Tressa ran off in different directions to haggle with the merchants and continue their little game. Cyrus took Ophilia for a gentle tour of the stalls, stopping to explain more of their history to her as the single women eyed her enviously. The cleric remained oblivious to them as she asked the professor questions, attentively listening to his answers. Elsewhere, Alfyn chatted to some of the other festival goers, excited to experience his first festival and turning a very blind eye to Therion as he picked the pockets of those he chatted with.

All the while, Primrose wandered a little aimlessly, hoping no one recognised her. Praying that the worry in her stomach would eventually subside.

She watched the dancers, hoping to pick up a few new moves, only to realise that they danced far differently to her. They danced for fun, not to survive. They danced for themselves, not to flatter watching men. She tried the foods, hoping for something that would fill her stomach enough to bury her worry. After sampling almost everything on the menus, the butterflies in her stomach still fluttered around and around, nauseating her further.

She tried everything she could to distract herself from her nerves and worry until she eventually gave in. Admitting defeat and allowing herself to fully embrace her worry about visiting Noblecourt yet again, Primrose started to make her way out of the crowd and into the nearby trees, hoping to watch the festivities from afar.

Instead, one of the dancers she'd been watching earlier stopped her. Instead, they noticed she was a dancer from the Sunlands and invited her up onto their stage to dance for them. Putting on her best smile, she agreed to dance for them and started up the stairs to the stage.

Hoping to dance away her worries, Primrose looked over the large crowd of paired off youths; over the stalls that were starting to light their multicoloured candles for the evening. She looked over the festivities and out into the trees on the flats, she watched the petals flutter through the air, hoping to match their movements.

Starting slowly to match the local band's beat, Primrose spun on her toes, performing perfect pirouettes over and over.

Would the manor still be standing?

Dipping into a slow stretch, Primrose held her arms out palm down in front and behind her, slowing to a complete stop before flipping her palms upwards and starting to strut and spin around the stage, moving to a beat the band struggled to catch up to.

Was Master Forsythe still captain of the watch?

Spinning to a stop in the centre of the stage, Primrose slowed to allow the band to catch up as she flicked her feet in and out of each other in place, her arms delicately twisting over her head as she readied her magic.

Would Simeon still be there?

With the band all caught up, Primrose stared to spin again, sending bolts of beautiful dark magic into the sky. The crowd cheered in excitement as they watched the dancer conclude her performance, a display of grace and magic the likes of which they'd never seen before. All the while, the worries had only grown in Primrose's heart, dancing on a panicky stage of their own.

Yet, as she slowed to a stop and saw the crowd properly for the first time, Primrose's heart slowed right down.

Because, not only could she see her friends in the crowd, cheering her on, she could see someone else too. Someone she'd not seen for over a decade, someone she'd never allowed herself to miss as much as she so wanted to. She'd wondered if he'd stayed, if he'd left when she had.

But there he was, right at the back of the crowd, smiling up at her so clearly, so sweetly, her heart almost stopped.

Simeon was there, watching as she danced yet again.

Quite suddenly, she wasn't worrying about being alone again tonight. While her friends would be dancing together here in the festival, she knew she and Simeon would be dancing somewhere else. Somewhere quieter and more private. Somewhere where watchful eyes were not.

As petals fell and buds blossomed on the trees of her youth, Primrose would dance beneath them with her own perfect match.


	47. When the Darkness Comes

_I wasn't happy with the last tragedy I wrote, Lost Light. It felt... wrong in a way I can't describe. I was very much off my game when I wrote it and I think it shows._

 _So, I decided to rewrite it from Ophilia's point of view, and I think I'm happier with this version of the story. The old version isn't going anywhere, I just wanted to try again with this story and perhaps offer an alternate version of events for those who might want it._

 _However, since this is a rewrite, I will be going against my new plan of no make up stories after tragedies. Also, Wednesday's the first of May and I wanted to write a story involving a Maypole dance anyway... So, at some point on Wednesday (I'm working a 9-9 so it'll either be first thing in the morning or late at night UK time) the next story will be posted._

 _Also, next Saturday's story's going to (finally) be a platonic Therion/Ophilia chapter! I know a few people have been waiting for a story like that, so I thought I'd let you know it's coming very soon!_

 _Anyway, thanks for reading as always!_

* * *

 _Tragedy: Lianna had been by her side ever since she'd first arrived in the Frostlands, had held her hand through some of her darkest moments… (Lost Light Rewritten)_

* * *

When the Darkness Comes

"No!" Ophilia's left hand flew to her chest, clutching at her robe as her right gripped the low table with all it's might. "Say it isn't so, Lianna!"

Lianna said nothing, focusing her attention instead on making their drinks across the room as Ophilia numbly slid into her chair.

While she'd known it was a possibility, Ophilia had never let herself believe that Archbishop Josef was on his last legs. She'd never let herself look at the reality of the situation: that he'd be dead before she got the opportunity to return home. Now, she had no choice but to look.

Gripping the table edge tight, Ophilia watched as Lianna carried two glasses over to her. "Here, have this."

"Thank you." Ophilia took a grateful sip from the glass, holding the stem tight as she looked back over at her sister. There was a slight grimace on her face, a worry beyond what she'd been expecting to see. But, she supposed, however bad she was taking the news of his Excellency's death, Lianna had had it worse. He was her father after all, she'd probably been at his side when he'd died.

"How, how are you coping?" Ophilia asked gently, watching her sister's worried fingers tapping up at the down the stem of her own glass.

"I'm..." Lianna started, her face immediately turning down and away from Ophilia's as if she was trying to hide her tears. "Why..."

Ophilia watched as her sister stood and gripped her skirts tight in her fists, speaking desperately quietly as she asked the world, "Why did he have to leave me? Why did he leave us…?"

"Oh, Anna," Ophilia pushed herself free from her chair, ready to hold her sister in her arms, ready to lie and tell her all would be well again soon. "I'm still here."

Only, Ophilia wasn't so sure she was.

All of a sudden, her eyesight had gone hazy, spots appearing here and there as her legs turned to immovable lead, then staticy jelly. As her arms suddenly seemed to reach out for eternity, no substance to them, no weight.

"I'm still… here..." She said, hearing her own voice as if through water as she fell to her knees. Her body felt so heavy, like rocks stacked on top of one another; yet so light, like it wasn't there, like _she_ wasn't there anymore. Beyond her cloudy, spotted gaze, she no longer saw light, she saw only greys, shadows of what she knew had to be in front of her. "My… body..."

Suddenly, the sensation of being both heavy and light became too much to handle and the cleric fell face first onto the floor, her heart hammering in her chest, frothy liquid rising higher and higher in her throat until she had trouble breathing. Contorted beneath her, her hand gripped at her breast, at her heart hammering deep within her chest, trying its best to keep her alive.

"You're always so kind..." Lianna lent down next to her and Ophilia desperately hoped she was trying to help her. Desperately prayed to every God that her suspicions that Lianna had caused this were false. Instead, Ophilia only felt her sister's hand go to her waist, feeling around for the ember. "So I know you'll understand."

"Li… anna…" She gargled out in a muffled voice, unable to move her face, unable to move anything at all. Her entire body tingled like static, trying to move, trying to live.

Trying to outrun the coming darkness.

As Lianna pulled the Lanthorn from her sister's belt, Ophilia felt her lean back onto her knees and gently stroke her hair. The sensation felt so far away, almost like it was happening to someone else, bringing back memories long forgotten of when she'd been sick and her sister had taken care of her.

But, this time, there'd was no father to tend to them. No father to tell them all would be well again soon.

It almost seemed as though Ophilia would be seeing both her real and adopted father again soon.

"I'm sorry. I need this ember, for Father." Lianna rose to her feet and – though she couldn't see it – walked away from her sister and towards the door.

"No… Anna… Wait..." Ophilia gargled in protest, trying to beg her sister back knowing she wouldn't come. She had a dark mission on her mind. There was no longer any light in her life.

And now, there was only darkness in what remained of Ophilia's own.

"Help… me..." She muttered into the ground as her heart suddenly slowed, so close to stopping. "Please… Li.. anna..."

But, Lianna didn't stick around to hear her sister's last words. She didn't stay long enough to hear her beg and pray.

"Fa… ther… I…"

She didn't stay long enough to watch the final effects of the potion she'd given her.

No one stayed to watch as Ophilia's heart stopped and the darkness claimed her.


	48. What the Ribbons Hide

_This story's perhaps a little more... self-indulgent, shall we say, than most. But then, the traditional May day ceremonies and Maypole dances were far more proactive than this, so... The next holiday based story I write hopefully won't focus on Primrose (and her relationships) quite as much as these last two have._

 _Happy 1st of May!_

* * *

 _Some memories are worth incurring the wrath of the Master._

* * *

What the Ribbons Hide

Once every year, a different kind of dance would be held in the shadows of Sunshade. A dance that bought more men to the town than usual, baiting them with promises of more provocative dances than those usually performed in the tavern.

In the town square, a 30ft tall pole would be erected with a series of thick ribbons falling from a ring at its peak, a series of ribbons the dancers would spin and weave together. A series of ribbons that would allow them to hide from the prying eyes of men if they knew how to work them.

Something resembling childlike joy would always take root in Primrose's heart whenever she saw that oak pole returned to it's rightful place every year. Because, despite the fact that Master Helganish would be working them twice as hard, watching them twice as close as they dance, this festival of bygone days provided her with a place to hide. If she worked her ribbons just right, she could find herself in moments of privacy with the other dancers.

If she twirled her ribbons just right, she and Yusufa could find themselves alone together, performing for only one another.

The thoughts of what had happened behind the ribbons last year always brought bright blushes to their cheeks, along with giggles to their lips as they wondered what they'd hide behind them this year. Those moments in relative privacy together were well worth the beatings they'd endure from the Master for falling out of the public eye, the jeers and grabbings of more handsy men when they weaved their way through the crowd asking for tips.

In a very odd way, everything Primrose had had to endure over the last ten years – the beatings, the pain of loosing her father, the frustration at not yet having found the men marked by the crow – seemed to melt away when that pole came out every year. Whenever she saw that pole and the ribbons attached to it, she seemed to forget her mission, her pains and regrets. The feeling of disgust when she saw the outfits she and the others were required to wear on this night wasn't half as nauseating as it would've been if she wasn't afforded a few moments of peace with her dear friend.

When, finally, the night of the ribbon dance came, Primrose and Yusufa dressed – or undressed, in this case – themselves in their red and blue bikinis and high heeled sandals while making hushed plans of how their moves could be best used to hide behind the ribbons. While making plans as to when they'd get to see one another with bright blushes on their cheeks, whispered words of love behind their lips.

On no other day of the year could they be so unguarded with one another, so openly vulnerable with one another. On no other day of the year could Primrose and Yusufa confess their forbidden feelings for one another.

And so, with Helganish filling the crowds' heads with promises the dancers wouldn't be able to keep, Yusufa and Primrose found their red and blue ribbons next to one another, inappropriate smiles on their faces as they waited for the Master to give them permission to begin.

"But, let me not blather on any longer! You're here to watch my dancers perform, not to listen to me!" Helganish laughed with the crowd, turning to look at Primrose and two red ribbons wrapped around her fists. "Let us start the performance now, shall we, Kittens?"

With that, the band started their slow measured beats of the drums, the low whistling of the wind instruments and the dancers started to perform.

The dance always started with a simple hopping side to side, bringing the ribbons with the dancers as they performed in synchronicity, hopping in place. Then, the wind instruments picked up and it was time for the dancers to follow one another around the pole, bringing their ribbons with them. Watching Yusufa's back as they leaped clockwise around the pole, Primrose blushed bright, knowing what would soon be coming. As they reached their starting positions, they hopped twice before turning to leap anticlockwise around the pole. This time, Primrose could feel Yusufa's eyes on her, relishing in the feeling of being watched by her so much that she could block out the leering looks of the men in the crowd.

Once again back in their starting spot, the beat picked up and the dancers began to weave their ribbons around one another. The other three dancers performed delicately, weaving their ribbons between the three of them while Yusufa and Primrose weaved their pairs of red and blue ribbons together in a far less delicate, far more sensual display.

Together, the pair danced around one another in hoppy circles, happily weaving between one another as their ribbons became entwined. As their bare limbs started to 'unintentionally' graze against each other, raising goosebumps as they smiled, barely containing their laughter.

Ribbons entwined, the beat slowed as the dancers started to climb. This was what the crowd had come to see - not the traditional hopping around the pole, not the age old entwining of the ribbons - the far more sensual climbing of the ribbons by flexible, scantly clad women. This was the part of the dance that Primrose had originally hated, before Yusufa had showed her how to dip and weave around the ribbons, out of sight of the men for a tantalising moment before reappearing, flustered but happy.

Climbing higher up the ribbons, Primrose and Yusufa exchanged sideways glances as they locked their legs around the ribbons, stretching in unnatural ways to give men a better look at their curves. Blushing bright as they stretched their bodies towards the floor far below, they knew when they came back up they'd twist behind the ribbons and...

Primrose counted down the seconds, waiting for the men to stop cheering so that she could pull herself up on the ribbon and into her beloved's arms.

Finally free of their cheering, Primrose rather languidly pulled herself up on the ribbon, watching as Yusufa did the same before catching her eye. No words nor nods needed be exchanged in that moment, they both knew what to do next. Spinning in time to the music, the two dancers disappeared behind the ribbons.

Laughing as they heard the exclamations of the crowd, demanding to know where they'd gone, the dancers crossed past each other to their opposite's ribbons, exchanging kisses and caresses as they giggled. As they allowed themselves to feel that pure joy that was so quashed everywhere else in this forsaken town.

Blushing bright, they reappeared before the crowd and performed a stretch more revealing than before, a stretch so improbably positioned that Primrose had to wonder why it made men so excited. Watching out the corner of her eye as Yusufa performed the same stretch, she couldn't find anything even remotely arousing about it, but then, she supposed, men did think rather differently to women.

Rather than dwell on it too much, Primrose simply counted down the beats until she could pull herself up, slip down the ribbon and hide behind it, once again climbing her way across Yusufa as they exchanged kisses so light it was a wonder she felt them at all, grips against each others bodies so hard it was a wonder they didn't leave marks.

As they found their way to each other behind the ribbons yet again, Primrose almost felt guilty for feeling so happy, so carefree. She had no right to feel this way, no right to feel so free when the men who'd killed her father were still out their, demanding justice be wrought upon them.

And then Yusufa's reassuring hands were on her hips again, telling her it was okay to be selfish for once. That it was only one night of the year.

Telling her she was allowed to enjoy herself once in a while.

And, she was right. There would be many more nights to pursue her prey.

But tonight, away from the watchful eye of men, there was no place for guilt, no place for worry. There was only room for the two dancers, living and loving in the moment.


	49. Guided by Morals

_Today's story is completely spoiler free and was requested by Tahlion (though I know a few others were also waiting for a chapter focusing on these two)._

 _I hope you enjoy it, friend!_

* * *

 _Therion can't help but wonder what would've become of Ophilia and her moral compass if she hadn't found the guidance of the Flame._

* * *

Guided by Morals

"May the Sacred Flame light your path."

"And may it ever shine its warmth upon you."

Therion watched the interaction between the Sisters curiously, leaning on a tall torch pillar a few feet away.

He'd only intended to stop in Flamesgrace for the night, he'd only meant to tell a tale for a hot meal and a soft bed. Instead, he entered town to find the blonde cleric twirling her staff in thought as she weighed up the pros and cons of performing this sacred right in place of her adoptive sister, so that she might spend what was left of the Archbishop's life by his side rather than half the world away.

And when the cleric had noticed him stealing from a local Knight Ardante, she'd told him she wouldn't turn him over to the towns guard if he promised to help her out. Not particularly wanting to see the insides of a Frostland jail cell, Therion reluctantly agreed to help Ophilia, not realising what he was getting himself into.

Because, before he'd even had time to process that she was performing this religious right against the advice of the church in an effort to spare her sister the pain of leaving her father behind, he'd found himself face to face with an ancient stone golem. He'd found himself using his tiny dagger against something taller than a house.

The next time he saw Heathcote, he intended to give him a strong right hook as a thank you for setting him off on this journey. An unwanted adventure unlike any other.

Because, before he could even really get the idea of beating an ancient, religious guardian into his head, he'd watched the cleric take up a relic that was said to have belonged to a God. A relic that, by all sane accounts, she wasn't allowed to touch.

He'd watched a woman of the church, a follower of the flame, steal the holy Lanthorn and an ember of the Sacred Flame.

He'd watch a cleric steal.

Wide eyed in shock the whole way back to town, Therion struggled to listen as Ophilia told him he was free to leave town again when they got back.

"You don't need my help anymore?"

"No," Ophilia had shook her head, a dainty chuckle escaping her lips. "That is, unless you know of a way to make Lianna and his Excellency less angry at me for performing the start of the rite without permission."

"Since you've started the rite, aren't you meant to finish it?" Therion had asked, inadvertently revealing that he knew a lot more about the church than a thief had any right to.

"How do you know that?" She'd asked in surprise, unsurprised by his answering silence.

After all, he'd only met Ophilia a couple of hours ago, there was no reason for him to tell her that he'd spent many a night in the church as a thieving, forgotten child. There was no need for him to tell someone he'd just met stories that not even his old partner knew.

But then, she'd told him about her new family, how they'd welcomed her with open arms after she'd lost her parents to a southern war 15 years ago. Despite knowing him for only a few hours, she'd opened up to him with such honesty that he'd almost had no idea how to react.

"All I'm saying," Therion had continued after a few moments, weighing up whether he should tell her a little about himself or not. "Is that Orsterra's a big place filled with monsters and monstrous men. Perhaps you'd like someone to walk it with you."

"Are you offering to guide me around Orsterra to perform the Kindling?" She'd chuckled, not expecting him to shrug in agreement.

"If you'd be willing to make a few stops to allow me to get rid of this Gods forsaken bangle," Therion had jingled the chain on his wrist. "Then, sure. I'll help you out."

"My, how noble of you!"

"Don't let it get to your head, Sister." He'd grinned a little wickedly. "For all you know, I'm using you as a religious buffer to stop people suspecting me when I steal from them."

Before she'd had time to reply, they were back before the Cathedral, staring up at the glittering majesty of the home of Orsterra's religion. In the end, instead of replying, she'd told him to wait outside while she faced her adoptive sister and father.

And so he'd waited, freezing in the snow, as Ophilia disappeared into the church, Aelfric's Lanthorn at her hip and her head full of optimism that her family wouldn't oust her for taking on the responsibilities of the rite without first consulting them. And so he'd waited, watching as a merchant had angrily stormed out of the church, muttering something about his plans having gone awry now that this other cleric had taken on the responsibility of kindling the flames across the realm.

And so he'd waited until Ophilia had emerged from the cathedral, staff in hand and sister at her side. He'd watched as they said their heartfelt goodbyes and couldn't help but wonder… What if?

What if someone had taken _him_ in off the streets and given him a home to call his own? What if someone had given him a chance as a kid, a place to turn to when all was lost to him and he'd felt completely forgotten? Would he have ended up like her? Would he have been able to pursue dreams he'd long forgotten, dreams of study and laughter? Would he have been able to live his life happy, free of the bitter pessimism that now haunted his every thought, his every step?

Would he want to?

At a certain point, one starts to slip completely into the character they've created for themselves, starts to act the part they've scripted. Perhaps, after all this time, it was too late for Therion to start a fresh with a new character, a noble rather than a thief. Perhaps he knew better than to try now that his natural instincts were to pick every pocket he walked past.

"You seem quiet, Therion." Ophilia said as the pair made their way out of Flamesgrace, ready to follow the path to Noblecourt, a town Therion was sure he'd stand out like a sour thumb in. "Something on your mind?"

"… Do you ever wonder, what would've become of you if the Archbishop hadn't taken you under his wing?" Therion asked, his curiosity getting the better of his desire to stay quiet.

Ophilia nodded. "Quite frequently. I have imagined every possible scenario, from having to sell myself to find a place to sleep to stealing what little I can to get by. It has gotten to the point where I do not like to wonder anymore."

"I… see." He heard the reluctance in her voice, the desire to never find herself a thief. And couldn't help but wonder, were some people born with such a pure moral compass, one that didn't point into a constant grey area when they tried to claim that stealing from the rich was in fact helping them understand the struggles of being poor? "Do you think your morals would've allowed you to steal from people?"

"That's a difficult question," Ophilia tapped her staff against her forehead in thought before bringing her other gloved hand into Therion's eyeline. Revealing a bright red apple held in her fist. "I suppose it would depend on who I was stealing from."

"Hey!" He exclaimed, pulling his pouch from his waist and noticing it was an apple short. Noticing that the cleric had somehow managed to steal from him.

Ophilia simply laughed and pulled a little knife from her pocket before using it to cut the apple into wedges, then to peal those wedges so they looked like little rabbits. She offered him an apple bunny. "So, tell me more about how you managed to get that bangle on your wrist, mighty thief."

Hiding his slight surprised grin in his scarf as he took the apple bunny, Therion decided that maybe he wouldn't punch Heathcote the next time he saw him. Hells, he might even thank him for giving him the opportunity to meet a cleric who'd somehow managed to steal from him.

Perhaps he'd thank him for giving him the opportunity to work on pointing his moral compass back into a more upstanding position… Provided he didn't managed to pull Ophilia's down.


	50. Drunk Trivia Night

_I can't believe Travel On's already at 50 stories, it's utterly insane to me! Thank you everyone who's favourited, followed, reviewed... Hells, thank you all for just reading and supporting me! I've had a lot of fun writing all the stories up until now and I don't see that changing anytime soon, so, here's to (hopefully!) 50 more!_

* * *

 _Yet another drunken game with Odette doesn't go quite as Cyrus had planned..._

* * *

Drunk Trivia Night

He was determined not to lose this time. Not again.

"Thank you all for coming," Tressa said, her voice slightly shaky as she looked between the two determined teams. On one side of the tavern they'd bought out for the night, Odette's team sat hunched forwards, determined steel in their eyes. On the other, Cyrus' was gathered, their desire to win burning deep behind their unwavering gaze.

At least, that's how they hoped they looked. The truth was, it was getting late and they had already downed two shots of spirits each. None of the group quite looked as threatening as they thought they did, and Tressa's voice only shook because she was trying to hold back her laughter.

Ogen wasn't being quite so subtle. He'd been laughing about this idea for quite a while now and that laughter had only gotten louder as the night progressed.

But, Cyrus was determined. His team could beat Odette's, he was certain.

Yes, Odette had an unnaturally high alcohol tolerance like he did, but Therion's surprisingly low tolerance would be their team's weak link. Sure, Olberic could drink like a sailor and had a far greater depth of knowledge than most, but he was also only taking part in this event to battle Erhardt on Cyrus' team. And, yes, while he freely admitted that that made Erhardt his team's weak link, he also had Alfyn besides him who could hold his liquor far better than most men his age. Then their was Primrose on Odette's team and H'aanit on his own, the two wild cards of the group. Though he rarely saw either of the women drink, he suspected they could hold it well. However, the fact that he didn't know for sure was really starting to eat at him.

Almost as much as his team's nominated healer's laughter was starting to grate on his nerves. Why did Ogen have to be their healer? Why did Odette get the quiet, slightly worried Ophilia watching over them for when the first person fell?

"I'll be your host this evening..." Tressa continued, holding her trivia cards to her lips to hide her giggles. Of course, those cards had been prepared by someone else so that no one knew what was on them, what the answers would be. In fact, it was the bartender himself who had pulled the dusty old cards out from under the bar, saying they'd been used in many a drunken trivia night before and that he was quite looking forward to them being used in such a scenario again.

"Allow me… *ahem* To explain the rules..." Tressa cleared her throat again, giggles dying before they could surface. "The team with the most points obviously wins. To earn points, simply get the questions right, the team that doesn't get the question right must drink. If someone on the team gets the question wrong, they must drink twice. But, when someone falls or vomits, they will cost their team five points."

"What if we vomit because of something other than alcohol poisoning?" Primrose asked, already more talkative than usual. Not a good sign for the opposition. Cyrus slyly grinned.

"You're still out and your team still loses five points." Ogen confirmed. "And your team's healer will be pissed at you."

"I… think that's all you need to know. ...Oh, and there are some questions that are worth more points than others, I'll let you know when they come up."

Tressa once again looked between the two eager, already slightly intoxicated groups and stifled another laugh. "Are we ready to begin?"

"Yes." "Absolutely." Odette and Cyrus said simultaneously, immediately turning to give each other the evil eye.

"Okay." She took a deep breath and turned over the first card. The game had begun.

"One point for each correct answer, what are all Cait species weak to?"

"Swords, daggers, axes and..." Odette started to make a motion with her hand that Cyrus could only assume was meant to indicate being hit with a staff. "What are the bonky things?!"

"Staffs?" Cyrus supplied helpfully, frustrated that he hadn't been able to answer quicker than her but certainly happy to be able to hold her forgetting what a staff was called over her when they were more sober.

"Yes, staffs!" She slammed her fist down on the table. "That's four!"

"Okay... That's three points to Odette's team and one to Cyrus'..." Tressa said, watching as the bartender wrote the scores down on a little board behind the bar. "No one drinks. Next question, two points: Where would you find ratkin?"

"The wood and highlands!" Cyrus shouted at Tressa, not noticing H'aanit shrink back in her chair in resignation, scratching at Linde's ears under the table.

"Correct, Odette's team drinks." Reluctantly, the older scholar's team split a flagon of ale between their glasses, drinking swiftly as the bartender changed the score on the board. "One point: In which region does the Church of the Sacred Flame come from?"

"The Frostlands!" "The Highlands!" Odette and Cyrus shouted at the same time, missing the wince on Ophilia's face at the noise, not noticing as Olberic and Erhardt gave each other a look as they realised this wouldn't be the rematch they'd hoped for.

"The card says the Frostlands..." Tressa said a little timidly, waiting for the Professor to start his lecture.

"While that may be the more common understanding of the situation, recent studies suggest-"

"Drink your flagons and give in, Cyrus." Odette said rather forcefully, already a little red in the face. "You can't expect a decade old pack of cards to reflect research performed in the last year!"

"But the answer is wrong!"

"I'm… Going to ask the next question now…?" Tressa said hesitantly, watching as the good Professor got a little hot under the collar at the competition.

"One moment, Tressa." He put up one hand to halt her even as his other grabbed the flagon of ale from the table tray. "Just because Odette got the answer correct _doesn't_ mean the answer _is_ correct."

"Oh, good." Primrose muttered, grabbing a flagon for herself as she and Therion leant back in their chairs, realising just how this night was going to go.

Ogen leant over to Alfyn, whispering, "This isn't going to end well, is it?" even as the two scholars continued to argue.

"The facts of the matter are completely outdated!"

"Drop the matter and drink your wrong answer!"

And so the game went.

Odette and Cyrus were so quick to answer every question that their team never got a word in edgewise. The best they could do was split the drink when one of the two didn't speak quite quick enough and hope that they didn't fall first. If they spoke like this to each other, none of the travellers wanted to see how they spoke to them. None of them had even known Cyrus had this kind of fierce competitive nature to him; he'd only shown shadows of it when they'd competed between each other before and certainly never to this level.

"The answer is factually incorrect! I cannot accept it!" He slammed his fist down on the table, making H'aanit jump in surprise before slumping lower and inviting Linde onto her lap. Laying her ears flat and shooting Cyrus a frustrated glare, Linde climbed onto her mistress' lap and curled in, providing her with comfort as the scholars shouted at one another.

"Accept it, Cyrus! Factually correct or not, it is the answer on the card!" Primrose and Therion continued to chat in hushed tones to one another, barely paying attention to their team 'leader' and her anger at this point as they split a flagon of mead and discussed where they intended to go next now that their journeys were over.

"The card is wrong!"

Erhardt and Olberic exchanged glances of frustration whenever they drank, wanting to engage in the competitions themselves but having no chance. They'd only agreed to this contest in the first place because they wanted to try and out drink one another again, and they'd barely had the chance to do anything but stare in frustration so far.

"Let it go, Cyrus!"

Ophilia had pulled up a stool to the bar and was chatting quite calmly with the bartender, asking him if he'd ever had a drunken trivia night go quite like this.

"I cannot accept an incorrect answer in good conscience!"

Ogen had split a beer with Alfyn after the third argument, by now he was sat down and chatting with his fellow apothecary about his journey, asking if the professor always acted like this as he continued to shout like a child.

"The answer is not-"

"ENOUGH!" Tressa shouted, making both of the scholars jump and snapping the rest of the travellers back to attention as they all turned to face the young girl.

"Tressa?" Concern creasing her features, Primrose half stood up from her chair, her hand outstretched to the merchant.

"I've had enough of you two shouting!" She shouted at the scholars, glaring at the two of them in great anger. "You're both disqualified!"

"Wait-" "Tressa, you can't-"

"Shut up!" She snapped at them again. "You promised us this would be fun! You promised your teams you'd listen to their answers and give them the opportunity to input! They've not been able to say anything all night because you two keep squabbling like school children and I've had enough!"

She pointed quite forcefully to the back of the tavern. "Go!"

Their heads down turned in embarrassment, the two scholars stood and started to make their way to the back of the tavern, arguing with each other under their breath.

"Shush!" Tressa snapped at them again, pointing at tables far away from one another for them to sit at in silence. As soon as they'd sat down, she straightened her hat and tapped her cards. "Now, would the two teams like to continue with the trivia game or shall we all gather around a bigger table and play Therion's game?"

"Oh, Therion's game, absolutely." Primrose said, stretching her back out and picking up the empty flagons.

"Withen water rather than alcohol, mayhaps?" H'aanit suggested, picking up her sleepy leopard as the two groups moved to a bigger table at the back of the room.

"A wise choice, mistress hunter." Ogen said, rubbing his temples. "I think we all have a headache coming on."

"I suppose we will have to compete at another time, Olberic." Erhardt said, supporting his friend's weight as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

"Perhaps that is for the best..."

As the group gathered around the back table, Ophilia and the bartender each brought a large pitcher of water and several glasses over before taking a seat at the table themselves.

"Care to join us, sir?" Therion asked rather politely, clearly still intoxicated.

"If you'll have me?"

"The more the merrier!" Tressa invited him into the group looking over his head to give a stern look to the two scholars at the back of the room. "Not you two!"

Odette spread her hands and tilted her head back as if to say 'what did I do?' despite knowing full well that she had been the one who'd goaded Cyrus into this game, that she was the reason they'd all had to see him at his competitive worst. Meanwhile, the Professor sat with his head in his hands, willing his headache to die.

Once again, he'd let Odette get the better of him. Yes, perhaps they'd both 'lost' in this match, but she'd still gotten him riled up, she'd gotten him yelled at by a girl half his age.

There were no winners in drunk trivia tonight. Just two academic losers sat at the back of a tavern as the rest of their friends laughed with one another.


	51. Deceiving Looks

_Worried about how she appears to the warriors she's recruiting, Cecily tries on as many fearsome looking suits as possible to impress the ever stoic Ned._

* * *

Deceiving Looks

"What do you think, Ned?" Cecily asked, appearing from behind the curtain in yet another suit of armour. Unlike the last two, this suit had a visored helmet with a tall purple plume to match the colour of her shield's intricate crest.

"'Least yer head's protected in this'n." He shrugged, seeing no more difference between the armour she wore this time to the last two. Still seeing no reason for her to wear armour at all, honestly. After all, she was only a sponsor, a fighter's representative, not a fighter herself. If pressed, Ned suspected she'd hesitate a little before identifying a blade's flat from it's point.

At least, she'd hesitate in front of those she wished to sponsor. She'd bat her eyelashes and play the part of the ditsy, giggly young woman as Ned stood ominously behind her to entice them before revealing her harder side as they negotiated prices. Over the last few months as Ned's wound healed, the two had brought in many a client, many a warrior to fight under their colours at the next tourney, and yet…

"You could be a little more excited, you know." She said, raising her visor and flopping into one of the deep divans that seemed to be in every room of her town house.

"Apologies," Ned shook his head, shifting slightly in his chair. While his wound was fully healed now, he still had more than his fair share of aches and pains. "I'm... unclear 'bout why yer dressin' up like this int' first place."

"Ned..." She sighed his name like she often did, exasperated yet again that he couldn't keep up with her newest strange idea. "I'm tired of our clients thinking I'm just a pretty face! I want to fight! Or, at least look like I could take them on."

Fighting back the urge to remind her that she was already a skilled mage who'd very much looked the part in her usual robes, Ned nodded. "I understand Cecily, but, remember what Sir Olberic said:-"

"A title and a crest do not a swordsman make."

Caught off-guard by the booming voice of their old friend, Ned drew his axe instinctively at the intruder.

"Ned!" Cecily shouted at him, rising from her divan about as elegantly as anyone could in a suit of armour – which is to say, not at all. "Put that thing away! Sir Olberic! Wel… What brings you here?"

Sheathing his axe, Ned lowered himself back into his seat as Olberic chuckled. "My journey is now complete. ...However, do I truly need a reason to stop in on old friends?"

"I suppose not..." Cecily mumbled, returning to her seat as she pulled off her helmet, letting her hair fall about her shoulders freely. "Still, can't say I was expecting to see you again this soon!"

"Nor can I." Ned agreed, watching as the knight inspected Cecily's gaudily painted shield.

"I… May have been untruthful when I said I had no reason to visit." He admitted, lifting the shield and raising an eyebrow in surprise at it's heft. It might've looked strange, but Ned knew it was the real deal, he'd been with Cecily when she'd picked it out after all. And had been as surprised as the warrior was to see the slight girl hold the giant thing with relative ease.

Snatching the shield from the knight, Cecily lent it against the small table her helmet was sat on. "So, if not to see our lovely faces, what brings you back to Victor's Hollow?"

"During the course of my travels," Olberic briefly sat down in the spare armchair, clearly uncomfortable with how many cushions were crammed into it as he stood back up immediately. "My fellow travellers and I met a young lad calling himself Kit."

"Can't say I know o' th' lad..."

"Nor can I."

"I would have been surprised if either of you had," Olberic smiled at the pair, shifting his weight between feet in rare nervousness. Whatever he'd come here to ask, Ned expected it wasn't an easy question. "However, we have reason to believe the lad has been… fooled by dark forces and is now being lead down a dark path to reawaken the ancient God Galdera."

"Oh no!" Cecily's hand flew to her breast in surprise, creating an ungodly noise as her gauntlet hit her breastplate.

"And, loathe though I am to ask, we need all the help we can get should the Dark God rear it's head."

"I will happily go with ye, friend." Ned stood and banged his fist against his chest – which was thankfully not coated in metal and therefore made not an awful noise – as a sign of respect and agreement. "Even t' the gates o' Hell themselves."

"The Gate of Finis, lore calls it." Olberic said, sighing slightly as he saw his newly healed friend so ready to give his life for the cause. "Located in former Hornburg."

"I see..." Cecily nodded in understanding then stood herself. "Wait a moment."

Turning on her steel heel, she once again retreated behind the changing screen.

"...How fares your wound?" Olberic asked after a moment of wait.

"All healed up now, milord." He nodded before giving him a wicked grin. "If the end o' t' world wasn't close at hand, I'd challenge ye to a duel."

Olberic matched his grin with an equally wicked one of his own. "Perhaps once this is over..."

"Okay." Cecily reappeared from behind the screen once again dressed in her robes, a sword at one hip and an axe at the other as she tied her hair back up with her ribbon. "I'll give it my best shot."

"Are… Are you certain you want to journey with us?" Olberic asked in surprise, shocked at seeing the young woman with weapons by her side for the first time.

"What? Just because I'm small and a woman I don't know how to fight?" Tilting her sworded hip up a little in anger as she crossed her arms, Cecily looked away. "Alright, fine, I suppose. Why would you need a woman warrior gifted in the art of weaving runes on your side against Galdera when she could sit in her town house and look pretty? After all, what good would little ol' Cecily be-"

"He gets the point, m'lady." Ned cut her off, a smile hidden behind his hand.

"I did not doubt your prowess in battle for a second," Olberic agreed. "I only worry that… This is a fight from which we may not return, are you sure you wish to come?"

"You'll have a better chance at survival if I'm there." She said, sauntering between the two warriors before pausing in her doorway in thought. "At least, I hope so. And, besides, I can't let Ned have all the fun!"

Smiling to himself as he watched her eagerly drag Olberic out of her house by the sleeve, Ned was glad to see her self-conscious worry once again replaced by her usual unwavering confidence.

He only hoped she felt as confident as she acted, after all, a God – even a recently reawakened one - was sure to be a fearsome foe.


	52. A Cut Too Deep

_Just a reminder that I'm no longer posting make up stories after tragedies, so the next one won't be until next Saturday. However, it's a romance next week that (at half-written present) is shaping up to be something quite special._

 _Regardless, I hope you like today's story!_

* * *

 _Tragedy: Stalked endlessly throughout her search of the cavern, Tressa was almost glad when the beast finally struck. Almost._

* * *

A Cut Too Deep

At last, she'd found it. After hours of aimless searching narrow tunnel to narrow tunnel in the cavern, Tressa had finally stumbled into the light and upon the treasure it so beautifully illuminated.

But, something in the air was making her uneasy.

Shortly after she'd stepped foot in the grotto, she'd felt something watching her. It wasn't human, she knew that much. And, whatever it was, it was large, unwavering in its desire to catch her, unerring with its gaze.

Her nerves so highly strung from this endless watching, she'd navigated the grotto with her bow in hand, one eye ever over her shoulder. Yet, not once had she had to nock an arrow.

Of course, she'd seen monsters – bats roosting over head, snakes coiled and poised besides rocks, elementals minding their own business as they flittered around… However, none of them had moved to strike her, no matter how close she got. Even the usually quick to strike skeletons were too busy minding their own business to pay her any heed. No, it was almost as though the monsters could feel it, the presence of their alpha, watching over her, waiting for its chance to strike.

Yet, Tressa made it to the treasure unassailed, her anxiety higher than ever before.

Because – as she'd suspected – as soon as she leant down to dig the chest out of the soil, an almighty roar echoed endlessly overhead. It filled ever corner of the grotto, made every monster flinch and cower, every plant shake in a sudden wind.

With her lance tight in her grip even as she readied her arrow, Tressa scanned every inch of the clearing she was in, watching for a shadow - a beast - to appear.

But, she didn't see it as it leaped for the ledge above. She didn't hear it silently fly through the air as it pounced. She couldn't have known it was coming right for her throat, it's venomous talon sharp and at the ready.

Tressa barely had time to scream when it scratched clean across her shoulder as she turned and let her arrow loose into its paw.

Immediately, she could feel the poison enter her veins. She could feel her energy draining already, she could already see the haze before her eyes as they struggled to focus on the poisonous beast before her. Too soon, her hands were shaking as they prepared the next arrow, her breath coming all too quick as she struggled through the burning sensation taking over every inch of her body. Pinpricks of heat scattered across her limbs and cheeks, one moment burning hotter than her wound, the next, colder than her toes.

Still, she gritted her teeth and fought on, her desire to kill the beast carrying her through. Her desperate wish to give Mr Leon his dearly departed friend's last treasure carrying her through the pain, the fading of her swelling eyes.

She struck the tiger once more with an arrow before she fell to her knees, unable to stand any more, unable to feel any satisfaction as it roared in pain as the arrow whizzed through the air and struck it square in the shoulder. A shot that made them even, in Tressa's book.

The tiger could barely stand thanks to the arrow stuck in its paw and Tressa… Tressa could hardly do anything as the poison continued to seep deeper into her body.

Her anatomy knowledge was dubious at best, but she knew that the poison had gotten into her blood stream. She knew it was travelling fast to her heart. And from there, she knew it wouldn't be long until her heart distributed it throughout her entire body, breaking her down from the inside as the deep wound bleed out.

Tressa knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she wasn't long left for this world.

Tressa knew she was destined to follow in the footsteps of the nameless traveller to the very end. Much like she suspected he had, she was destined to die here in Victor's Hollow, her journey unfinished, her diary left for whomever came upon her poisoned corpse first.

Screaming as her body seemed to catch – at first – on fire before turning an indescribably cold, Tressa fell onto her side, hugging at her knees as her body shuddered, desperate to fight back this infection. Before her, the monstrous tiger came close and sniffed her once. Seemingly satisfied that its poison had taken care of the threat to its lair, it let out a mighty roar that once again echoed around the grotto.

However, this time, the monsters didn't cower from the roar. Instead, they came tentatively close to the dying girl. Those that could do so sniffed at the air, likely smelling the venom that was coursing through her body, and let out monstrous whoops of delight as they rushed ever closer.

For the first time since getting struck, Tressa was glad that her senses were failing her. At least she wouldn't feel them pulling her apart, at least she wouldn't feel them tearing the skin from her bones with their poison coated teeth.

At least she wouldn't feel the pain of having let everyone – her parents, Mr Leon, Ali – down as she died by her treasure...


	53. That Which Can't Be Taught

_Books can only teach so much about affairs of the heart. There are somethings that one just has to learn on their own._

* * *

That Which Can't Be Taught

Neither one had quite known what they were feeling in the beginning.

They'd both read books on the subject, of course. One out of curiosity, a desire for knowledge burning within, driving him ever onward in pursuit of that he couldn't readily test. The other in more secluded moments when the ever present followers of the flame had found their beds, when she could find her own and the book hidden far beneath it.

Yet, all the books they'd read had always defined it in vague, absolute terms. Some would describe their heroes feeling it for the first time as they grazed hands with their future partner, a tingling, palpable sensation running through their body like electricity as their eyes met, a realisation deep within them that was lost as soon as someone approached and tore their bashful gaze away from one another. Others would describe it not in sensations, but dialogue, absolute with no room for error.

Confessions deep and moving often kept the cleric awake at night in a hot flush, as she turned page after page, drinking in the pretty words they told one another or the tension seeping off the pages as the hero found out their feelings were one sided. Sensations so plainly described they could be felt by all bested the scholar day after day as he struggled to replicate the feeling himself, ever unaware of the hearts he broke as he tried.

Yet, still, neither had known the feeling when it first took root within them. Neither had expected it to blossom quite as it had, quite unlike anything they'd ever read.

Because, as they found out, everyone had their own, unique experience with the emotion. For some, it was instantaneous, a heart stopping moment as they froze and everything disappeared but the person before them… Then, all too suddenly, time would start again, life would move on, and they'd be forced to deal with their emotions on their own as they hoped the person of their attraction noticed them, felt the same way about them.

For others, it would burn slow, ever under the surface as they drew closer to the person. They'd laugh and smile more in their presence until finally they'd realise there was something special about them, something they wanted to pursue alone with them, out of sight of the group they'd met through. When the time came to ask and they realised their feelings were, in fact, requited, there would always be the same questions hovering over their lips: Why hadn't they acted sooner?

Why had they waited?

That had been the question on both the cleric and scholar's lips the first night they'd stumbled into bed together.

They'd experience a few iterations of the emotion before it finally decided to take matters into it's own hands. Undiscouraged by their inability to noticed their feelings before, the emotion had erupted quite suddenly one stormy night in the Frostlands. And a night that would've otherwise been quite cold suddenly seemed all too hot. And the atmosphere that had once felt suffocating and tense suddenly burst under the weight of expectations, crashing around them as they found one another's arms.

It was a night unlike any other, answering questions both had felt hanging over their heads for years, providing answers to an emotion they'd read yet never experienced, never known could feel quite like this.

Neither of them had expected so much laughter, so many honest and carefree smiles. Neither had expected the breathlessness that came over them when they were apart, a tightness in their chest that was quite unlike any other, quite like a lingering heartburn with no sign of release as breath after breath caught in their throat. Neither had expected the moments of frozen clarity as they saw one another dishevelled for the first time, as they saw so different a smile on their face, as they saw a wicked look in their eye that brought not fear of what was coming, but intrigue. A raised eyebrow that lead to a quiet giggle and bright blush as they made their way onwards.

And to think, just months earlier, they'd been perfect strangers crossing paths by happenstance...

"Excuse me?" Ophilia had approached the scholar cautiously, confusion clear on her face as she'd searched both left and right for a landmark she recognised.

"Hm?" Cyrus had turned on his heel and raised his own perplexed eyes from his map at the sound of the woman's voice. "Can I help you?"

And then his eyes had met her own. And then the world had seemed to slow to a stop.

For all of a moment, all he could see was the wayward lock of hair the blonde twisted between her thumb and forefinger, the beauty hidden deep behind her vaguely lost eyes. All he could see was the cleric and the light – not of her faith or the flame, but of her very spirit – burning within her.

Then he'd let out a breath and all that was lost. Time had resumed and his heart had returned to its usual pace as he'd waited for her to reply.

"Might I borrow your map for a moment?" She'd asked, delicately pointing to his map as she toyed with her staff.

"But of course, my dear!" He'd responded all too quickly, all too ready to help anyone in need as he offered her his map.

"Thank you." She'd graciously accepted, running her eyes over the scribbled lines in even more confusion.

"Might I ask, Sister?" He'd asked, piecing together her identity as she struggled to find her place. "Where are you headed?"

"Oh!" Ophilia had looked up from the map with such a start that an immediate blush came to her cheeks as she fought back her desire to look away from the charming man before her. "S-Saintsbridge. In the Riverlands."

"Ah, I see." He'd smiled gently, a smile quite like a hug from a kitten, a smile that had put her immediately at ease.

Then he'd moved to stand behind her shoulder to look at the map and she'd immediately tensed back up.

"My apologies." He'd noticed her tension immediately and backed off quickly, indicating with his finger that he'd only intended to show her where they were on the map. "May I, my dear?"

Ophilia had returned the map immediately, her face slightly turned away as Cyrus took it. As soon as her hands were emptied, she'd gripped her staff tight in both of them, uneasy around this charming man yet to provide her with his name.

"Here it is." Conscious not to get too close, he'd shown her the town on the map and watched as she'd let out a clear sigh of relief.

"I am on the right path, after all!" She chuckled softly to herself, letting her guard down ever so slightly.

"That you are, my dear Sister…?"

"Ophilia." She'd offered with a drop of a curtsy. "Ophilia Clement."

"A pleasure to meet so lovely a cleric, Sister Ophilia." He'd offered a slight bow and easy smile in response. "Professor Cyrus Albright of Atlasdam."

"Thank you for your guidance, Professor. May the Sacred Flame light your path."

"And may it ever shine its warmth upon you." He'd completed the ritual greeting to the cleric's surprise. For whatever reason, she'd not expected him to know the correct response. "Might I ask for what purpose you travel so far from Flamesgrace?"

"I am making a pilgrimage to light the Sacred Flames across Orsterra."

"You're completing the Kindling!" Cyrus' eyes had come quite suddenly alight as he realised her purpose for travelling so far from home. "Sister Ophilia, I must ask, would you permit me to travel with you? Would you allow me to be your guide during your journey in exchange for me witnessing this once in a lifetime opportunity?"

"I..." Ophilia hadn't known why she'd hesitated. Yet, she undeniably had. There was something about this scholar that… well, it tugged at her in a way she couldn't quite explain. It wasn't unpleasant, not in the slightest, but it elicited a different enough feeling inside her that she couldn't help but hesitate when he looked at her as he did now: his eyes so bright and young, his desire to help her on her journey just as clear on his face as his desire for knowledge. "I… Suppose your assistance could prove useful..."

"Thank you, my dear!" A smile had quite completely lit up his face, bring one back to Ophilia's own as they began their journey together. "My, what an experience this will be! A chance to watch the Kindling performed before my very eyes… By a beautiful woman, no less!"

Turning her face ever so subtly away from the scholar, Ophilia had willed her blush to die. It wasn't all that much of a compliment, after all. Yet, hearing so charming a stranger call her beautiful was enough to turn her as red as a rose as this new, pleasant feeling began to fester in her heart.

Over the months they travelled together, that feeling only grew ever stronger as Cyrus continued to shower her with compliments that – despite their frequency – always felt sincere and never lost their power over her. One morning he'd compliment her intelligence and she'd let out a dainty little laugh as she willed the blush climbing onto her cheeks to bury itself once again; the next, he'd gush about how brave she was, or how beautiful she was, and she'd have to excuse herself to a secluded corner as she fanned her cheeks and begged her small, slightly different smile to hide itself. She'd will the feeling in her heart to disappear since she had no right to feel that way about her travelling companion.

Love had no place in so holy a pilgrimage.

Cyrus, also, felt something new take root inside of him as he travelled with the cleric. Something quite difficult to explain, impossible to rationalise. At first, it only seemed to rise to the surface when the cleric looked him full in the face, a beautiful, gentle smile on her own. But, as they journeyed on and got to know each other better, it reared it's head more and more frequently. A sly look out the corner of her eye made his heart hammer, an angry glare that gave way to giggles when he complimented her without warning never failed to bring the world around him to a stop.

Then there was the day he'd nearly lost her. The day he'd found her on the floor, barely breathing, her heart barely beating. What had come over him in that moment was a feeling unlike any other, a complete collapse of his mind as he panicked and shouted, a complete stopping of his heart as it sunk so deep he was sure it would never rise again.

In that moment, he'd realised what he emotion could only be. For there was only one emotion that could cause so inexplicable a feeling of loss, so unwavering a desire to see her journey complete and her safely returned to the arms of those who cared for her.

Yet, as they travelled back to her home town, as they made their final journey together to return the Flame to Flamesgrace, something inside Cyrus broke. Something screamed that this was wrong, that the only place he could be sure she was safe and protected was by his side.

Something in him finally shouted through his thick head that he was in love with the cleric and that he needed to tell her before they parted ways.

So, when the snowstorm forced them to set up camp for the night on the path to Flamesgrace, Cyrus thanked the Gods for this singular chance. This one opportunity for him to tell the beautiful woman sat in the tent besides him what he thought of her.

Ophilia thanked the Gods for this one final opportunity to be besides the man she'd come to love, this one final chance to tell him how she felt before she returned to the cathedral she called home.

"I don't think this will let up any time soon..." She noted, listening to the wind howl outside their shelter. "Storms like this one tend to last a few days this side of the mountain."

"I see..." Cyrus responded, quieter than usual as he lit a small, well contained fire for the two of them to huddle around.

"Are you feeling well, Cyrus?" Asked Ophilia, noting that his face was far paler than usual, his countenance much changed from his usual charming smile as he stared deep into his fire.

"Hm?" Raising his face, he offered her a smile, a weary tired one at that. "Of course, my dear. Why do you ask?"

"You're very pale," removing her glove, she outstretched a hand to press against his forehead. "And you look like you could be running a fever…!"

The scholar grabbed her hand with his own before she could press it against his face, holding it tight as he turned his eyes away from her. For the first time since she'd met him, Cyrus was struggling to find his words. Struggling to look her in the eye as his thoughts clearly ran rampant before coming to a complete stop, leaving his head empty as his heart hammered and cheeks flushed bright red.

"Cyrus!" Of course, Ophilia didn't quite realise the cause of these strange actions. She saw only symptoms of an oncoming fever as her logical, medical brain took over. "You're red as a beet! Lay down this instant! I'll prepare you some water-"

"Ophilia..." His voice was hoarse, lacking its usual grandeur as he looked her square in the eye. Once again, the world around him seemed to melt away, all noises seemed to hum into static as he saw only her worried eyes, her desperation to help him burning deep behind them. Once again, time started moving all too quickly as his heart beat returned with a sigh as he moved the hand in his grip to his cup his cheek. "I am… Well, I'm quite well."

"Cyrus?" An immediate blush climbed her cheeks at the contact.

"In fact, I think, before I started travelling with you, everything I knew as 'feeling well' was just an illusion."

Simply raising an eyebrow, Ophilia watched as the scholar battled through his brain fog to articulate - in perhaps less cheesy words - this feeling that had taken root inside of him.

"Because, well Ophilia, I don't think I've ever felt as well as I have in your company. Or, rather I suppose, as _unwell_ as I have when we're apart, for however long that may be. It's almost as though, when we're not besides one another, I'm being constantly tortured by a tiny devil, poking his trident into my every organ as I wonder when I might see you again."

Closing his eyes as he leant into the hand cupping his cheek, Cyrus didn't see the look in Ophilia's wide eyes as she realised this wasn't just flattery. As she understood what he was trying to convey through words that just couldn't do the emotion justice.

As she realised, after all this time, after reading all those books, that a flowery, overly long confession was not what she wanted to hear as the man she loved confessed his love for her. No, she wanted something more absolute than words.

So, she took matters into her own hands.

"And, when I am with you, my dear sweet… Ophilia?" Opening his eyes as he felt her other – still gloved hand – grip his other cheek, Cyrus saw the cleric's face shockingly close to his own. He saw his weary, somehow sad eyes reflected back in her soft, determined own as she smiled.

As she pulled his face even closer to her own.

"Ophilia, what are you-"

With such a simple, direct gesture, Ophilia silence the scholar as she put her lips to his and smiled into what was meant to be a brief kiss. A show of her love without a confession, a show of affection without need of words.

And there was no fireworks within them, not crackle of electricity as some of the books had claimed appeared with the first kiss. Instead, there was a completely incapacitating tingle down her spine as he let out the softest of moans. Instead, there was an indescribable release of butterflies from her stomach as she drew as close to his body as she could as his hand found her hip. Instead, there was a heart stopping moment as his hand started to trace the tingle back up her spine before running into her hair.

In that moment, words were obsolete, flowery confessions were meaningless and inaccurate when compared to the sensations that ran through their bodies, the emotions that they had kept hidden becoming all too clear as their hands explored each other's curves.

Soon, what could have quite easily been a cold night of storms and farewells became a warm night of new hellos and experiences the books had never quite explained. And, as the storm raged on outside their tent the next morning, they awoke not in the cold, but basking in each other's natural heat as they realised their journey was far from over.

In fact, they quite suspected their journey together was only just beginning.


	54. Frightening the Stage

_Just a very quick note: Now that Octopath is available on PC and attracting more people to this story who might not have played much of the game, I've started an ongoing list of stories at are spoiler free under the first chapter. If you are new to the game, I do recommend waiting until you're about halfway through all the characters stories before reading most of these pieces as they tend to take place quite late in the game - this one's based on a quest after Primrose's chapter 4, for example. However, if you want to read a story in particular and aren't sure what their spoilers might be, PM me and I'll let you know._

 _This story was a request by the lovely Icy Cake and I really hope it did you're idea justice! Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Stage fright is rather easy to overcome. All you need is an actress friend to teach you, and a thieving friend to plan the escape route for when everything goes wrong._

* * *

Frightening the Stage

Primrose had seen quite a few performances in her time – she'd even had a part to play in some of them herself – but none, she suspected, would hold a candle to the one she was to watch tonight.

"Are you sure he's ready?" The Impressario asked, nervously playing with his thumbs as he looked over at his newest actor backstage.

"I'm certain." She nodded, desperate to believe the words herself even as she watched the warrior pace.

"My apologies for asking so many times." Taking a seat on a nearby crate of props, the older man apologised once again. "Your friend, he fights better than anyone I've ever sparred with! But his acting… Are you sure it's improved? A week is not much time to make an actor out of one so stiff."

"I promise you, sir, he's as ready now as he'll ever be." Primrose reassured him again, watching as Therion approached Olberic and forced him to sit down as he gave him some final advice.

Ultimately, making an actor out of Olberic hadn't been that hard. Running lines with him had been easy, teaching him to fall into the role he'd been scripted had become much easier once Primrose got Therion involved. Teaching him stage fighting had been a bit of a challenge since the warrior struggled to initially understand why one would fight if not to draw blood. However, soon he got the idea and his role in this little play came together far better than they could've hoped.

Then they had him perform in front of the other travellers and learnt of his true weakness, a weakness Primrose and Therion had both overcome over a decade ago. Olberic suffered from stage fright, and the group had just three days to break him of it.

"I just wonder..." The Impressario started again, looking over at the thief a little wistfully. "Perhaps I should've hired your other friend."

"He's far from the warrior Olberic is, sir." Primrose pointed out, having considered the idea of swapping Olberic for Therion a few times herself.

"I know, I know." He sighed. "Yet, he's twice the actor, at least from what I saw."

"My friend," Primrose smiled gently at the man. "Perhaps it would be best for you to only worry about your own part in this play. I promise you Olberic is ready to play his part." _And if he messes up, we'll be out of town faster than you can catch us._

"Of-Of course, my dear." He shook his head with a little laugh and wandered off, muttering lines under his breath. Frequently, he looked back over his shoulder at Olberic before shaking his head and returning to his lines.

Primrose let out a little sigh before drawing herself up tall and taking a quick peek around the edge of the stage curtain. While the seats of the theatre were by no means full, there were still enough people here to make Olberic nervous. And, as Primrose scanned the seats again, she realised she recognised most of the faces in the crowd.

Ned and Cecily were happily chatting with H'aanit and Tressa in the front row while Ophilia told Harold and Reggie a little more about the play behind them. On the other side of the theatre, Cyrus and Alfyn were deep in conversation with Captain Bale, Erhardt, and Phillip raising their expectations all too high as Olberic panicked in the wings.

Primrose was starting to worry again herself. She had no idea how Olberic would react to performing before a crowd of this size; she had no idea how he'd react to performing in front of people he'd met while journeying across Orsterra. How would he cope with performing in front of people from Cobbleston, in front of Harold and Bale who hadn't seen him act anything other than serious? Would she have to worry that Erhardt and Cecily would heckle him from their seats?

Therion let out a low whistle behind her as he peeked around the curtain himself. "Big crowd."

"Do you think he'll manage?"

The thief shrugged and pointed at the dancer's sandals. "I'd change into some flats if I were you, just in case."

"Ready?" The Impressario asked, appearing besides them with a stage smile on his face, a clear desire to get the show started and no idea of the thief's escape plan.

Primrose and Therion exchanged a worried glance, planning their imminent as Olberic made his way over to them.

"That I am, friend." He said clearly, not a tremble in his voice. Primrose rather expected that his showy confidence would disappear once he saw the crowd, but for now, she simply gave him an encouraging smile, not trusting herself to speak.

"Break a leg." Therion slapped the performers on the shoulders in encouragement before disappearing suspiciously deep into the wings.

Still, neither the Impressario nor Olberic saw anything odd in their actions, they saw not the worry in Primrose's eyes, the escape plan forming behind Therion's. They saw only two friends, anxious to watch their performance. It made Primrose stop and wonder for a moment how many worried looks she'd missed before going on stage herself…

Not that that was really important now, long after those plays had been performed. No, now she had to only worry for her warrior friend, and how fast she could run when it all went wrong.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" The Impressario shouted to the crowd as he made his way to centre stage. There was not a tremble in his voice, not a shake to his hands as he spread them wide, inviting the crowd to watch the ensuing performance closely. "Thank you for coming tonight..."

And so the play began.

Almost too slowly, the first two acts progressed, weaving a rather familiar narrative as the Impressario and his actors performed before the crowd. An age old, damsel in distress and her knight tale unfolded before them as Therion planned an escape route and Olberic paced in worry. Primrose, on the other hand, was simply glad to see the theatre used for a simpler, less painful play than the last one she'd watched here.

Finally, it was time for the third act at last and Olberic was required to stop pacing and start performing.

"Just remember your lines and you'll be fine, Olberic." Primrose reassured him, a clearly worried smile creasing her features as she peeked out at the crowd one last time.

"And if you forget anything," Therion appeared besides them, crossing from the 'escape corner' to them as silent as a mouse. "Run over here and we'll help you escape."

Primrose elbowed Therion in the chest with a glare.

"What I think Therion is trying to say," she gave the thief a very pointed look as she watched fear creep onto Olberic's face yet again. "Is 'best of luck'."

"Thank you, my friends." A small smile snuck onto Olberic's face for a moment before he sighed and straightened his shoulders. All of a sudden, he was as serious as any actor, appearing almost as unafraid to go on stage as any of them. But, Primrose could see the shake in his hand, the sweat at his brow as he stepped out into the light.

Then he saw the faces in the crowd and clear panic took over his features.

"You can do it, Olberic!" Primrose whispered from the wings at the same time as Therion whispered "Picture them all naked!" She rather resolutely stomped on his toe at that remark, glad that she hadn't changed into her flats yet.

Undeterred by the fear and worry on his actor's face, the Impressario said his lines and challenged Olberic to a duel for the Princess' heart. This was the one part of the performance they hadn't had to prepare Olberic for. Having fought in Victor's Hollow's contest only a few months ago, they knew the warrior felt no anxiety when fighting in front of a crowd. So, they knew this very scripted fight would be well performed, and hoped that it would lessen Olberic's anxiety before he had to speak his lines.

"You wield a splendid sword, my friend!" The Impressario puffed between laboured breaths as he fell to one knee, bowing before Olberic's blade as the fight came to it's end. "But e'en we duel to the end of days, you shall never best me! Speak, wandering swordsman – what is your name?" He shouted, falling back into a fighting stance yet again as Primrose and Therion took deep breaths in the wings.

This had been the moment when Olberic had lost his nerve, the first moment that he'd had to speak, the first moment that he'd had to perform. Would he be up to the task?

"Come on, Olberic..." Primrose muttered under her breath, everything crossed that they wouldn't have to run, that Olberic had broken his stage fright in just a week.

"… Olberic." He said, breaking the pin-drop silence with a name spoken no louder than a kitten's purr. Then, he cleared his throat and spoke again, this time in a roar that seemed to shake the very stage itself. "Olberic Eisenburg! And, if it's a fight you want, then you shall have it. My blade's grown rusty of late..."

Primrose let out a very audible sigh of relief as she watched Olberic perform, not a shake in his hand, not a quaver in his voice. No, in that moment he was a performer in every sense of the word, captivating the audience with his roaring voice, his flashy sword skills keeping them on the very edge of their seat as he and the actor fought for the princess' heart.

"Shame." Therion said simply, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the two continue their performance. "I put all that time into planning our escape..."

Primrose elbowed him again, readying herself for her own cue. "Well, I've not performed my part yet, there's still plenty of time for something to go wrong."

"Don't let me down." The thief said, watching as Primrose threw her head back and assumed a snotty Princess posture. How she'd let herself get roped into performing this part of the play, she'd never know, but, she was happy she had. After all, she'd helped Olberic overcome his fear and achieve his goal here tonight, now she could help Therion achieve his own: she could help him orchestrate an escape from Everhold that he'd been planning since before they'd fought Simeon.

She had only one role to play in this play, her singular line was to declare that she chose the Impressario over this wandering villain, that her heart belonged to him and no one else. Instead, she ran onto the stage and stopped the two fighting, whispering to Olberic "Get ready to run." as she turned to the older man.

"My good sirs! Fight not for my heart, for I can chose who to love on my own, without need of such beautiful displays of swordsmanship!" She looked between the two men, watching Olberic's slightly confused face closely as he sheathed his sword, looking beyond the two out into the crowd and seeing their eager faces, their desperate desire to see the end of this play. "And, my fair sir, you needed not to display your talents in a duel with this man, for I already knew whom my heart desired. My mind was made up before I watched you perform, and I choose..."

The crowd was silent, every creak of the stage's floorboards was deafening as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, as she shiftily looked between Olberic and Therion in the wings, watching for their tiny nods to make sure they were ready to run. With a wicked grin, Therion nodded; with a confused raised eyebrow, Olberic bowed his head ever so slightly as Primrose reached out her hand to grab his wrist.

"You! Run!"

And so they ran to the wings, heedless of the cries from the Impressario and his troupe, ignorant to the shock on the audiences' faces as they stood from their chairs, trying to get a good look at the pair as they ran off stage and into the night.

"Told you you should have changed into flats!" Therion shouted back at Primrose as the trio dodged between props and backdrops, running from the performance they'd ruined.

Instead of responding, Primrose only let out a breathless laugh, enjoying this escape from the theatre far more than the last one. Proud that she had created an actor out of Olberic, Primrose smiled back at him, even more proud that he had grown so much as a wandering knight that he'd decided to run out of Everhold without much of a reason with them.


	55. One Last Job

_Susanna had given him a second chance, so it only made sense to him to use that chance – and his skills as a former assassin – to keep those he cared for alive._

* * *

One Last Job

"Thou wert an assassin?" H'aanit asked, her axe slung over her shoulder, eyes darting every which direction as she searched for monsters. At her feet, Alaic was busy rummaging through the thief's cloak.

Pulling out the bag of herbs meant for Susanna, he kept his head bowed low. He'd not expected to admit his past to the huntress… But, then again, he hadn't expected her to volunteer to help him retrieve the herbs from the thief, he hadn't expected her and Linde to pounce on the man with such ferocity.

He hadn't expected to see her again.

"...A long time ago." He admitted, pocketing the herbs as he stood, still avoiding her eye. Drawing his dagger once again as he too scanned the horizon for monsters, Alaic sighed and raised his head skyward. Memories of a time he'd left long behind him came back to him all too clearly as he scrunched his eyes closed, desperate to forget them. But, one cannot easily forget how much blood they've spilled, how many lives they've taken. One cannot easily forget the pain of swallowing a poison for their master, of having their life saved by their target.

Alaic couldn't easily forget the look in Simeon's eye as his artist branded his shoulder blade with the crow. That sneer on his lips as he claimed the young lad for his own, moulded him to his destructive will.

Behind him, H'aanit was silent. Whether this was because she was waiting for him to speak again or because she respected his desire to remain silent himself, Alaic couldn't tell. All he knew was that the huntress was silent and waiting for the signal to leave as Linde sniffed gently at the air.

All he knew was that when they parted ways, they likely wouldn't see one another again.

And he wasn't particularly sure he was ready to say goodbye.

"Z'aanta." Alaic said simply, looking back over his shoulder at the huntress with a slight smile. "He was the one who stopped me from killing Susanna."

"Master stoppened thee?" H'aanit asked in surprise, falling into step with the man as they made their way out of the forest and back into Victor's Hollow. "Forgiven me for finding that harde to believen."

"As good a killer as I was, I was no match for him." Alaic continued to smile, recalling the memories of fighting the older man with an almost fondness. Though almost twice his age, the hunter had fought with the same ferocity of any of Simeon's crows, had fought not for his life nor for Alaic's death, but to save the life of the woman who'd shaped his. "And only death awaits an assassin who fails to eliminate his target. So, as per my orders, I drank from the vial in my pocket."

"Poison?" H'aanit asked, an attentive listener considering she had half an ear out for monsters and half an eye on Linde as she weaved between them, desperate to get under their feet, it seemed.

With a simple nod, Alaic stared out into the forest around him, remembering all too clearly what had happened as the poison entered his blood. How quickly his vision had faded, his limbs had become numb… How quickly had his body fell to the snowy floor, his smile faded as his veins seemed to come aflame. "Susanna was the one who rescued me, brought me back from the brink of death."

"And quiten suddenly, thy target becamen thy saviour."

"Quite the sorry state I was in when I realised that." Once again, all too clearly, Alaic could see Susanna's smile flitting between him and the wounded Z'aanta on the bed opposite him. He could hear her laugh as though she was stood next to him, chiding him for trying to kill her and Z'aanta for stepping in to save a life she was quite capable of saving on her own. "I realised I was a failure, worth nothing. It was Susanna who had made me realise that. But, she also gave me more than that. She gave me a second chance, another chance to be human."

"And so, thou owens her a debt." H'aanit said with a slight smile, coming to understand the man by her side a little better as they sheathed their weapons and made their way back into town.

"One I fully intend to see repaid. I want to see her live a long and healthy life." Rolling his shoulders as the three of them entered into sunlight once again, Alaic gave H'aanit a small, honest smile. "And, thanks to you, I can rest easy knowing no one will be coming for her in my place. At least, not from the Obsidians."

"Thanken Primrose." Said H'aanit in response, a bright smile on her own face as she met his eye. "She wast the one who tooken down thy former Master. I merely offered mine support."

Shrugging slightly as they started up the steps to the north of town, Alaic pulled the herbs from his pocket. "Even still, I am in your debt. I would not have gotten these back if not for your help."

"I liken not to ben in debt with friends."

Quite suddenly, Linde butted her head against H'aanit's leg and gave her mistress a rather pointed look. Or, at least what Alaic thought a pointed look from a snow leopard looked like. She looked between her mistress and Alaic and back again before lowering her ears flat and letting out a slight snarl.

"I cannot asken that, Linde!" H'aanit exclaimed in astonishment as Alaic continued to watch the interaction in bemusement. Linde let out a sharp bark followed by a threatening low growl. "Don _not_ taken that tone with me!"

"Er." Alaic cleared his throat as they started down the next set of stairs into the south side of town and towards the merchant. "Is everything alright?"

"Quite." H'aanit nodded, giving her companion a stern look. "Linde wast offering a way for thou to maken up thy debt, ist all."

"Oh?"

"However, I cannot asken that of thee." She resolutely shook her head. "'Twould be liken asking thou to joinen mine friends and I on a suicide mission."

"What?!" Alaic exclaimed, stopping the huntress in her tracks in the middle of the town square as he grabbed her arm. He couldn't let her go on a suicide mission anymore than she wanted to ask him on one. And he certainly couldn't let her go on one alone with her seven quick-to-get-into-trouble friends. "Where?"

"Former Hornburg." Said she simply, looking at him and the hand gripping her arm in slight confusion. "The Gate of Finis. We haven this friend, Kit..."

Alaic half listened to H'aanit's story of Kit, the other traveller she and her group had met on their journeys across the realm, and how he'd gotten caught up in the schemes of a woman named Lyblac who'd taken him halfway across the world to where Hornburg had once stood. He half listened to their plan to save him and take him back from the clutches of the Dark God Galdera who was said to reside behind the gate.

However, behind her story, Alaic heard another story, one he'd heard from Susanna. A story of a man named Graham Crossford who'd found himself travelling on a similar journey after he'd lost his wife to a plague. A story of a man who'd left his young son behind to travel halfway across the world after another woman who claimed she could take him back to his wife's side.

And behind both those stories, Alaic heard the words Susanna had said to him when he'd asked her why she'd saved him, words he'd kept to himself when telling H'aanit his story:

" _Sometimes children do reckless things. So, it's up to those older than them to save them from themselves."_

"I will go with you."

"Pardon?" H'aanit asked in shock as Alaic interrupted her and let go of her arm, staring her square in the eye. There was a rare look of pure determination in his eye, one he'd not worn in many years now, but one that was more than suited to this situation.

"You'll need all the help you can get to save Kit, no?"

"Well, yes, however-"

"H'aanit." Alaic said her name simply, a desire to help her – to help Kit - so clear on his face that it was almost uncomfortable to look him directly in the eye. "I can handle myself. I might not be the heartless killer I once was, but I know my way around an unfair fight. And I want to help you." _And I can't leave you behind to fight a God alone._

For a moment, H'aanit matched his look of determination with one of her own. She held his eye as Linde looked between them, hopeful that her mistress would take up the offer. Finally, she sighed and shook her head, clearly not liking the idea of taking Alaic with her to what she could only see as a certain death.

"Given the herbs to the merchant and letten us leave on the morn." She sighed and started walking the last stretch of town back to the merchant.

"You'll let me join you?"

"I liken not the idea of puttening thee in danger. However, I muste admit that a man of thine talents woulde be an invaluable addition to the fight, shoulde it comen to that."

"Thank you."

"Thanken me not yet." H'aanit shook her head as they handed the herbs back to the man and made their way to the tavern to meet H'aanit's travelling friends. "For this journey mighten just be what gettens thee killed."


	56. Sleep Deprived Study

_This story was requested by Morskijez quite some time ago, I hope you like it (and sorry for taking so long!)_

* * *

 _When Cyrus almost falls asleep at the breakfast table, Alfyn decides to take action and teach him the importance of a good night's sleep._

* * *

Sleep Deprived Study

There was a sudden clatter halfway down the table as the elbow Cyrus had been leaning on slipped in his half sleep, almost knocking over his glass and bowl of porridge.

"By Brand's..." Olberic exclaimed, shocked out of his own half sleepy state by the noise Cyrus had made. Across the table, Therion had drawn his dagger on reflex, slightly groggy himself and certainly not aware that the noise had only been Cyrus knocking his bowl.

"Alright, that's it." Alfyn said forcefully, pushing himself out of his chair and standing tall and stern above the Professor. The only reason he was so awake was thanks to his concoctions, but he certainly didn't have enough herbs to spare making these concoctions for himself every morning when they could be better spent healing the sick. "I'm takin' all your books away, Professor!"

"I beg your pardon?" Cyrus asked in tired confusion, blinking like an owl as he looked up at the apothecary. "What need could you possibly have of my books?"

"A good night's sleep! That's what we all need from your books!"

"You're not making any sense, Alfyn." Therion said quite simply, slinking back into his seat slowly as he cradled his head in his hands.

"It's just 'cause you're tired." He reassured the thief, not entirely sure he was making sense himself. Taking these concoctions every morning meant he was starting to get used to their effects and therefore not getting as much of a benefit from them anymore… A phenomenon he'd learnt about from hearing Cyrus reading a book on the subject aloud at two in the morning five days ago. Wearily, Alfyn sat back down into his own chair and ran a hand down his face, "We're all _so_ tired..."

"Tired?" Cyrus asked innocently, almost like he wasn't aware of the bags under his – and the other three men at the table's – eyes. "Whyever could that be?"

"'Cause you keep stayin' up until ungodly hours workin' aloud, Cyrus!" Alfyn shouted at him, immediately regretting his exhausted outburst. "I mean..."

Looking between the men at the table, Cyrus almost seemed to see them for the first time, their dishevelled, just rolled out of bed looks and exhausted eyes. Incredulously, he asked, "I've been keeping you awake?"

"Yes, you dumbass." Therion said simply, swirling his porridge around as he avoided the Professor's eye. They'd wanted to bring this up since they'd started travelling with him, but they'd yet to find a diplomatic way of saying 'shut up and go to sleep'. And now they'd all gotten so tired of him causing their sleep deprivation that diplomacy had been thrown out of the metaphorical window.

"I see… Perhaps it would be best if we get separate inn rooms going forward so that you might get enough sleep." Cyrus proposed, pulling out his purse. "I certainly have the leaves to spare."

While Therion and Olberic nodded and agreed to this idea, Alfyn resolutely shook his head. "Not good enough, Professor."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're even worse off than we are, you need to sleep more than we do."

"I am not sure I agree with you there, Alfyn." Olberic interrupted, shaking his head. "I think Cyrus is quite used to working until the early hours of the morning."

"Well, yes." Cyrus smiled, or rather, created an approximation of a smile in his tired state. "Late at night is the best time to get work done when you work in an Academy. Only during the early hours of the morning can one not be disturbed by his students."

"When did your classes usually start, Professor?" Alfyn asked politely, knowing his leading tone would be lost on the tired scholar.

"Well, I open my office at around noon but most of my classes take place after one in the afternoon. Why do you ask?"

"So, you usually finish readin' at 3am, and you probably got up for work at 10 or 11?" Cyrus nodded, still not seeing what the apothecary was getting at. "So you used to get around eight hours sleep a night, yes?"

"That's what you recommend, my medicinal friend!" He said cheerily, before something seemed to click in his brain and his eyes darkened with sudden understanding. "Oh."

"We're usually out of the inn by 9am nowadays, Cyrus. You're gettin' less than five hours sleep. _We're all_ gettin' less than five hours sleep." Alfyn said as delicately as he could, trying desperately to open the Professor's eyes to the damage he was doing to his body, the damage he was doing to _all_ their bodies.

"I… see."

"More than that," Alfyn continued. "Workin' to so late hours after workin' a long day means that you're not actually retainin' any of the knowledge you think you're learnin'."

"I'm not sure I agree with you there, Alfyn." Cyrus resolutely shook his head. "I can quite clearly remember all the theories I've read over the last few mornings. From the irresistible force paradox to the theory of drug tolerance."

"One night." Alfyn bartered, putting his skills as an apothecary into practice. "One night of no study, that's all I ask. We'll arrange for you to have an hour alone with your books at lunch, but you go to sleep with the rest of us tonight."

"And if we don't feel better tomorrow morning?" Cyrus asked, sceptical but not saying an outright no.

"We try a different theory." He smiled. If Alfyn had learnt anything from his years of apothecarial study (and listening to Cyrus study it during the early hours of the morning), it was that sometimes one had patients who would refuse to listen to them, who had to be cajoled into understanding the importance of taking their medicine. To do that, one needs to speak their language; for Cyrus, that meant speaking the language of tomes and science.

"And I break your kneecaps with a spoon." For Therion, it would mean speaking the language of violence.

Looking between the threatening Therion to the exhausted Olberic and back again, Cyrus finally turned back to the apothecary sat next to him and extended his hand. "I suppose it's worth a try."

* * *

The next morning, the four were able to hold a conversation at the breakfast table without anyone almost falling asleep. They were still groggy and certainly still tired, but they'd slept far better that night than any other since they started to travel together. Somewhat frustrated, Cyrus agreed to give Alfyn's theory another few days of practice.

The second morning after a good night sleep, everyone seemed much refreshed and ready to face the day ahead. For the first time in many months, Alfyn hadn't had to take a concoction to wake him up. Cyrus seemed a little frustrated with how well this theory of Alfyn's was panning out.

On the third morning, Cyrus sought Alfyn out before they made their way to breakfast.

"I concede." He said quite simply, clearly downhearted that he hadn't realised the value in this 'study' sooner but just as clearly much refreshed from three nights of sleep. "I apologise for keeping you all awake these last few months."

Bringing him in for a shoulder hug, Alfyn laughed heartily, finally feeling more like himself again. "No need to apologise-"

"Yes there is!" Therion shouted at the two of them from the table.

"I just can't sit by and let someone suffer, y'know?" Alfyn said to the Professor, ignoring Therion as they grabbed their breakfast and joined him and Olberic at the table. "And you were sufferin' from a serious work/life balance problem."

"I see that now." As the two sat down, Alfyn noticed a light in Cyrus' eye that he didn't particularly like the look of. "Perhaps I could use this self study to publish a journal to help other scholars..."

Alfyn gave him a worried smile, not wanting to tell him not to pursue this line of study as he knew it would mean he'd stop sleeping again but equally wanting to get him to take a step away from work and study. But, he supposed, this was a good step in the right direction for the Professor.

He just hoped he wouldn't fall back into bad habits when their journey was finally over.


	57. A Sharpened Blade

_I'm going to preface this story by saying it's a suicide._

 _I don't like to preface stories with warnings much, especially not tragedies as I often feel it loses some of its shock factor when you know what to expect. However, I also know this is the sort of story I wouldn't have wanted to read were I in the same place now as I was a year ago and – in light of some of the news this past week – probably not the sort of story a lot of people are going to want to read right now._

 _But, of all the character deaths, this was the one I wanted to write the most. Yet, when it came time to actually write it, I struggled to find the right words to convey the emotions. On the one hand, I'm so incredibly relieved that I couldn't find those words, that – after two very difficult years – I'm finally out the other side of my depression and suicidal thoughts and am on the path towards being more mentally healthy (it's still a long way to go, but I'm so glad to be making positive progress). On the other, I'm frustrated that I couldn't make this story more bleak, that I couldn't explore these emotions as much as I'd once wished since I no longer battle with them daily myself._

 _All this said, I'm… proud of how this story turned out. But I know it's not for everyone. And I want to say, to anyone still reading, that there's always a light at the end of the tunnel. There's always something, someone to hold onto. For me, during my darkest days, my light was Octopath, a game that I hyper-fixated on for like six months before it even came out and still gush over frequently nearly a year later (I want to go into this a bit more in a couple of weeks time, but I think it's worth saying before this story as well)._

 _So, sorry for going on so long before the story, but I think this needed to be said._

 _I fully understand if you don't want to read this particular story. Next week's all about Tressa and Ophilia, something much more light hearted. And, for what it's worth, this is the last of the traveller's deaths. I'll still be writing tragedies, I'm sure, but I won't be killing any of the travellers again for a while._

 _Be kind to yourself._

* * *

 _Tragedy: In the end, there was only one man capable of killing the Unbending Blade of Hornburg._

* * *

A Sharpened Blade

Why he hadn't finished him off, Olberic would never know.

Perhaps he'd left him for the scavengers above, their beaks painfully picking the skin off his bones as he just laid there, unwilling to raise his head, to face the destruction and death surrounding him. Maybe he'd left him for his fellow traitors to finish, a former knight worth 20 men now ripe and ready for the killing, a final morale boost before they went on to the next kingdom they wanted to destroy. Mayhaps he just didn't have the gall. Perhaps he didn't have it in him to kill is former brother-in-arms. So he beat him within an inch of his life instead and left him to finished off by the monsters that came next.

Whatever reason Erhardt may have had for not finishing Olberic off when he had the chance, the knight would never know. He certainly wouldn't find the answer buried in the mud below his face.

And he had no intention of moving from this spot, no pressing matters that needed his attention – his Kingdom had fallen after all, his King dead not metres from him, his allies already picked clean by bandits and scavenging birds.

He had no reason to carry on, no reason to raise his head out of the mud.

Vengeance could have taken over his mind, the desire to see Erhardt dead for what he'd done could have consumed him for years as he honed his skills and tracked him down. A thirst for understanding could have taken root in his heart, a desperate desire to know why he'd done what he'd done could have spurred him ever onwards as he searched for that answer, for his former partner.

Instead, there was nothing. No desire to do anything, not a thought in his mind as he laid there, waiting for the vultures to stop circling and finally fall upon him.

After all, everything he'd done – or not done, as it were – had lead to this coup, had lead to the death of everything he stood for, everyone he cared for. It had all lead to the death of his fighting spirit, the death of the warrior he'd once been.

At least, that's what it felt like. It seemed to him that something within him had died, something fundamental to who he was as a man and warrior. It seemed as though the rational part of his mind had shut down and all that remained was the all consuming thought that there was no coming back from this. That he couldn't make a life for himself without a clear reason to carry his sword, without someone or some cause to fight for he was a rudderless boat carried only by the unerring tide...

Drifting ever closer to the cliff and the rocks that would break his body beneath it...

Olberic knew these mountains well, they'd always been his home after all. He knew how steep they were, what laid in wait at the bottom of their chasms. He knew how brittle they could be, how, if he slid off them right, he could cause a landslide that would bury his body beneath the rocks he fell off. He knew he could disappear in such away that no one would ever find him, Hornburg's fallen knight.

Hornburg's greatest coward.

Because that's what he would be, a coward too afraid to face what had happened, too afraid to live on with his memories that he threw himself off a cliff.

As afraid to carry on as he was, Olberic was no coward. He knew there was only one way forward for him, only one way he could leave this mess behind and show the scholars who came after him what happened here.

Ever so slowly, one thought started to grow from the emptiness in his mind. One idea started to take root in the very fibre of his soul, one he thought would allow him to escape this situation with a shred of dignity. And all of a sudden, all of his half thought-out plans of vengeance and questions disappeared. All of a sudden, there was only one plan in his mind and a cacophony of voices in his head telling him not to go through with it.

But one can only drown out those voices with the help of a friend's. One can only hear reason when there's someone outside their head telling them it.

And so Olberic finally raised himself up off the ground. He raised his head to the sky, to the sun that was blazing bright over head, bathing the scene of his greatest failure in such a harsh light, illuminating his flaws and urging him onwards as it sparkled off his sword.

Sword in hand, there was only one thought in his mind, one wondering, voice like honey thought that asked him:

"Why hesitate?"

So he didn't.

With his sword turned inwards, he ran towards the bricks of his king's pavilion. He ran so fast he almost didn't stop when he hit the wall, his sword slicing clean through his body, snapping his spine and resting immobile between his ribs. He almost didn't notice the immediate freeze that took over his body as blood spurted out from between his lips, dripped carelessly down his sword from its final resting place.

He almost didn't smile.


	58. Loosen Up, Priestess!

_Taking some time off with Tressa doesn't work out quite the way Ophilia had thought it would..._

* * *

Loosen up, Priestess!

"Hey, Ophilia?" Tressa approached the cleric with a skip in her step as the two of them made their way back to the inn. Their fellow travellers had gone off together to spend the night at the local tavern, but Tressa was determined to not let them have all the fun.

"Yes, Tressa?" As always, the holy woman was smiling, but something about it felt off today. There was a strain to the curve of her lips, a tired look behind her eyes...

"When's the last time you had fun?"

"I… I'm sorry?" With a raised eyebrow, Ophilia turned to look at the merchant walking next to her in complete confusion.

"Well, we're all always travelling and working, you more than anyone!" She laughed a little. "When's the last time you took a break from all this Kindling, clericy stuff to just enjoy yourself?"

"Well, I suppose..." For a moment, Ophilia stood completely still as she realised that she hadn't taken a real day off since she started on this pilgrimage. "It's not proper."

"What's not?"

"A cleric taking a break from her sacred duties to be frivolous! I can not just… Well, I can't." Ophilia crossed her arms resolutely, apparently determined to make this the end of the conversation. But Tressa couldn't be so easily dismissed.

"Okay, but… We're half the world away from the next cathedral and our friends aren't going to be up to much tomorrow if they're drinking as heavily as they said they are. Soooo…"

"Oh, Tressa, no. I-"

"One hour." The merchant offered, resolved to get her friend to loosen up, even just a little bit. "One hour, tomorrow morning, you come with me to have a look at what the merchants in town are offering. Afterwards, you can spend the rest of your day doing your usual cleric duties."

Ophilia sighed deeply and shook her head a little before letting out an honest little chuckle. Normally it'd take a lot more than that to get her to drop her duties for a day, but she had to admit she was pretty tried. ...And it did seem just a little unfair to let the others have all the fun. "Alright. One hour."

"Yes!" Tressa jumped for joy as Ophilia laughed, already excited to take a day to herself and see what this little town had to offer. Linking her arm through the cleric's, Tressa offered her her brightest smile. "You're not going to regret this."

* * *

By noon the next day, the pair were running out of town as fast as they could, ignoring the fire raging in the street and the curse words the villagers were yelling at them as they ran as fast and as far as they could, giggles dying in the wind.

"Okay, so, you might regret it." Tressa joked as they ran as fast into a copse of nearby trees.

"Shockingly, I don't." Ophilia chuckled as they hid behind a remarkably tall and wide oak, silent as they waited for the villagers to move on.

"Really?!" Tressa whispered in surprise as she heard the villagers approach. "You don't regret accidentally lighting the stable on fire with your luminescence? You don't regret that I managed to fan that flame into an inferno with my wind magic when I tried to put it out?"

"I- Why were we in the stable in the first place?" Ophilia asked, a hand on her aching forehead as she tried to remember. As she tried to reason out why she'd enjoyed causing so much mayhem. Apparently all the running and smoke had made her forgetful.

"Well, while I was haggling with a travelling merchant, he mentioned that his horse had pulled up lame so you offered to take a look at him in exchange for a discount on his wares."

"Oh, yes. It's coming back to me now." Ophilia nodded slightly, her forehead still cupped in the palm of her hand as she started to remember the events of the last half hour.

"So, we went to the inn stables," Tressa continued to quietly remind Ophilia what had happened as they waited for the villagers to stop their terribly inefficient look around the woods. "And you gave the horse a through look over before telling the merchant that you could heal him there and then."

"Right, Tressa, I remember."

"So, you started to channel your healing magic," Tressa continued, snickering to herself as she remembered. "But this really spooked the horse and he started to kick."

"Yes, Tressa-"

"So the merchant untethered his reins and stroked his neck to calm him now, but he hit you with his tail which scared you so much you miss-cast the spell into the hay."

"Tressa-"

"This spooked the horse more, so I tried to put the fire out with my wind magic. But that just stirred the flames more and the horse ran, dragging the merchant behind him as he clung to the reins." Tressa could barely contain her giggles as she recounted the story and now she was outright laughing, as quietly as she could as the villagers started to retreat from the woods.

"So we had to run after accidentally starting the biggest fire in village history." Ophilia finished, slumping slightly against the tree.

"Wait until Therion hears about this!"

"Let us not tell the others right away, perhaps?" Ophilia asked, red with embarrassment as she realised she'd caused more trouble than the thief of their little group.

"Oh, come on, Ophilia!" Tressa turned to her with a smile, "Admit it, you had fun this morning."

"I am a woman of the church, Tressa. To do something like this is simply inexcusable, they could take my staff!"

"Oh for..." Tressa took Ophilia by the shoulders and looked her square in the eye. "Loosen up a little, Sister! No one got hurt, the fire's already been put out by the Professor and Alfyn's giving the horse and the merchant a good check-up. Nothing truly bad happened, we just caused a minor inconvenience."

"I wouldn't call a stable fire a minor inconvenience!" She quietly exclaimed, conscious that there were still some villagers among the trees.

Tressa shrugged. "Okay, fine. But admit it, before everything got out of hand, you had fun switching off this morning, didn't you?"

For a moment, there was silence in the woods. A bird thrilled overhead and a twig snapped under the foot of the last retreating villager. Then, finally, Ophilia let out a small smile, a smile that lit her face in honest happiness and told Tressa she'd had just as much fun today as she had.

"I suppose I could stand to 'loosen up' a little more..."

"That's the spirit!" Tressa exclaimed, grabbing her hands and dragging her out the woods. "I'll take you out again next week and we'll-"

"Not commit arson this time?"

"That's on you, Sister, I tried to put it out!"

They laughed as they made their way back to the village walls to wait for their friends to finishing helping the locals before they moved on to the next town, the next adventure. And, quite frankly, Ophilia couldn't wait to spend some quality time with Tressa again. She just hopped they wouldn't get kicked out of every town and village they stopped in...


	59. Tale of Eight Travelers

_Happy Octopath Anniversary!_

 _There is much I could say about how amazing this game is, how it got me through some trying times, how writing about it is an amazing way to keep my love of it alive week after week... But I think instead, I'm only going to say this: I love Octopath, in all its forms. And I can't wait to see what they come out with next._

 _So, enjoy this 8000 word long anniversary piece that's written in a similar style to Tale of Betrayal, based on my first playthrough of this incredible game._

* * *

 _It had been all of their first adventures, their first stories. But it sure as hell wasn't any of their last._

* * *

Tale of Eight Travelers

Allow me the honour of telling you the tale of a year long past. A tale of eight travellers who came together to fight at first for their own causes and then each others. A tale that begins with a huntress' first solo hunt.

While H'aanit was by no means inexperienced, the challenge of hunting at first for her Master then the monster that had transformed him far outweighed any that she had tackled before. For she faced it on her own. She adventured at first only for herself, to simply find her Master and the quarry he hunted. However, as she set off with her two beastly companions, she soon came upon the town of Flamesgrace in search of provisions – having given many of hers to the poor injured man she'd found in the woods outside her town.

She soon fell upon a lost cleric in need of guidance and a hunter's might.

And so, after watching her say a heartfelt goodbye to the archbishop for what – as they discovered later – would be the last time, Ophilia joined H'aanit, Linde and Hägen on their hunt. Together, they swore they would help one another complete the Kindling and find Z'aanta. Together, they wandered into Atlasdam and met their next companion.

While H'aanit, at times, was hard to understand with her archaic tongue, she found the scholar's musing complicated to get her head around at first. Then he showed his hand in battle, his talent for discovering a new weakness with each enemy as they encountered them. She was sure to keep him handy from then, in case she ever did find Redeye and she couldn't read his heart as well as she oughten.

So they became a travelling team of three and two beasts, one in search for their Master and his quarry, one out to complete an age old ritual, one in search of an overdue library book. They were an odd group to be sure, Ophilia standing out like a sore thumb between her oft-times aggressive in their methods of gathering information and passing by obstacles companions.

And they weren't yet done gathering fellow adventurers who would soon become friends.

By the middle-seaside town of Rippletide, they helped a young lass take on a group of pirates. When they came to leave town at the rising of the sun the next morn, the lass chased them down and asked to go adventuring with them, a desire to see the world burning so deep within her that H'aanit – the appointed leader of this rag-tag little group – just couldn't say no.

So they journeyed on again, the relative travelling silence the trio had gotten used to now broken by Tressa's questions and laughter. A change not one of the three regretted.

Now in the habit of stopping upon every town they came across, they stopped off in the quiet mountain town of Cobbleston in the Highlands and met their next companion – the legendary Unbending Blade of Hornburg himself. Of course, they knew him only as Berg at first, a hedge knight with far more talent than any knight they'd ever met. So, seeing him donned in blue as he joined them on their journey around the continent felt right. It was safe to say the group felt more than protected with a mighty knight and huntress leading the way, cutting down enemies that dared get too close to them.

And it was safe to say that the group looked slightly less odd now that the knight travelled with them, they at least no longer looked like a Professor taking three young women and two beasts out for a strange class assignment.

It was in the shadowed town of Sunshade that the group had their first experience of death – their first and far from their last. With Ophilia taking a much deserved break at the local inn, there was no one on their team skilled enough to treat Yusufa when she fell, and there was no life left in her by the time help arrived. They did everything they could, but in the end there was nothing left to save. In the end, all they could do was comfort each other and their new dancing friend.

In they end, they simply travelled onwards to the next town, the next traveller.

And so they found Alfyn, an apothecary with a heart of gold that would be tested time and time again as he healed the sick and injured across Orsterra. And so they found Alfyn, and offered for him to join them as they travelled. After all, two healers were far superior to one.

With the group growing in number, they made one last stop by the middle-sea before they started to branch outwards. And it was in the dusty town of Bolderfall that they met a thief. What place a thief had in this group of people who were mostly trying to be good, they didn't know. But, if H'aanit had learnt anything in this first stretch of her journey, it was what people in need looked like. And Therion very much looked in need of help.

Of course, helping a thief perhaps wasn't the group's best idea – but it certainly wouldn't be their worst. And, at the end if the day, it was only Therion who got the bangle slapped onto his wrist. At the end of the day, H'aanit still did one good deed in town as she let a young, love bitten soldier lose to her in battle so that he might impress a dark and brooding young lady. While the success of the mission was limited, the man was undeterred, seemingly sure he could win this Lyblac over given more time. So he set out on a journey of his own, a journey to win his lady love.

And so the group of travellers set out once again, each with their own missions, their own destinations. A group united only in their desire to see the end of each other's tales.

Therion fought for freedom, Alfyn for succour, Primrose travelled to the end of the world for revenge, Olberic searched for redemption, Tressa was determined to find treasure, Cyrus was on the hunt for the truth and Ophilia's only goal was to bring light to the land. H'aanit oft looked between her new friends and smiled. Truly they were unlike anyone she'd ever met – and were honestly weighing her down when it came to her own search for her Master – but she was glad to have met them, glad to be travelling with them. Together, she was certain they'd find what they were searching for.

But life has a funny way of throwing obstacles in people's paths. And the paths of these eight were perhaps more treacherous than most.

But their journeys started simply, and their next destinations wouldn't throw anything too heavy at them. At least, not yet.

Though, one has to admit, the discovery that a local cleric was employing the prostitutional services of the men who killed Primrose's father was perhaps a bit heavy for the next leg of their journeys. And certainly a terrible secret to find hidden behind the gentle snow that constantly weaved through the streets of Stillsnow.

However, the team's first encounter with that town still brought some joy. After all, H'aanit got to witness Tressa turn bright red as her new dancing friend destroyed her questioning innocence. All in all, their first mission as a group was something of a success – a messy, bloody success, but one nonetheless.

Their first mission as a group had succeeded in starting to bridge some of their gaps, had started to make them converse and banter with one another. They were starting to learn how to keep one another's spirits light as the world around them seemed to only get darker.

For next they travelled to Primrose's former home. Although, they travelled not to see where her story would take her now – she was not sure she was ready to face her home-side of town just yet. No, they journeyed there to help Therion remove his bangle from his wrist. They travelled there to see a thief in action.

And yet they were still somewhat surprised to see him steal, to see him pick pockets with ease. They were still somewhat surprised to see him break and enter with the skill of a social elite as he set his silver tongue to work. They were still somewhat surprised to be travelling with him.

H'aanit was quite surprised not to be travelling with him, but for him to be travelling with them. Surely, he would have had his mark of shame removed many moons ago if only he travelled alone. Instead, he was a wolf in a pack of relative sheep, not dragging them down to his thieving ways, but being brought up by their morals as he searched for a travelling companion for the young man H'aanit had saved in the woods outside of S'warkii. Promising to find him someone when he refused to travel with them, the team set off to Bolderfall to return the first of the Dragonstones before they made their way to the neighbouring Cliffland town apparently drenched in gold.

Only Tressa was surprised to find the town turned into something darker than the diary she followed had told her. Only Tressa was surprised when Ali set his store against hers and stole her customers. Only Tressa was unsurprised that she offered to save him when he got taken away by the town's 'mayor'.

And it was safe to say everyone was surprised when she took the man on, her lance in hand and desire to see justice served leading her to victory. No one dared cross the young girl after that.

Instead, they laughed with her more freely, they became an ever closer group. At times, they sometimes lost sight of their own journeys, what they were in search of, whom they were trying to save. Instead, they started to save one another from the darkness that occasionally overwhelmed them as they wondered where their journeys might take them next.

Instead, they simply carried on Ophilia's pilgrimage in the nearby Riverland town.

Cyrus' face quite literally lit up as he watched Aelfric's flame be kindled in kindness. And Ophilia's turned a similar shade of red when Primrose started to help look for the town children's lost broach. If not for Ophilia's kindness and desire to help, the boys never would have reunited in friendship… And if not for H'aanit's experience with direwolves, they probably would've perished in the forest.

When they left Saintsbridge, having finally helped the love-bitten man find a wife who loved his poetry as much as this Lyblac woman clearly desired this young man she'd found for herself, they were better people, their hearts lifted high as they travelled on, the next saga of their adventure just waiting to be written.

In Goldshore, they found themselves caught up in a fever. The town half mad with coughs meant that Alfyn's skills as an apothecary were far more important that Ophilia's pilgrimage. Until they met Vanessa. Upon meeting Alfyn's new rival, the group started to relax and take in the sights of the town, promising to complete the next stage of the Kindling in the morning when the town was a little healthier.

Then Vanessa's money-grabbing schemes came to light. Then Alfyn decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. With the help of his new, surprisingly moral, friends, the apothecary managed to take Vanessa down and save the child at no expense.

Many tears were shed as they said goodbye the next morning, promising to return to complete the Kindling again another day. The town was not quite prepared for them, after all. And it would not do to perform the rite incorrectly.

So they travelled back to Quarrycrest again as they meandered around the continent, this time in search of Odette and Cyrus' missing understanding that charming words can led to complicated situations.

They at least found Odette. ...And a lot of blood. Having put the uncomfortable encounter in Stillsnow out of their mind, coming across Gideon's chamber of blood magic and rituals once again reminded the travellers that Orsterra was not that great of a place at times. Death stood at every corner, exploitation hid behind every prospering town and darkness was ever at their heels, keeping a close eye on them as they travelled the streets of Orsterra.

But they were undeterred. They were a group united now in their desire to help one another and the people they came across. They were a team starting to understand one another, starting to work with one another and cover each other's weaknesses as they shone a light on their strengths.

So, when they finally arrived at Victor's Hollow – a town H'aanit had come to know quite well in her years bailing her Master out of his gambling debts there – they were ready to meet the knight Erhardt had trained. They were ready to test their might against him in the coliseum, to fight under Cecily's colours as she piled on the pressure.

Through Olberic's unwavering desire to find his former partner, they won battle after battle until he faced Gustav himself. They worked as a team until he won his audience with the fighter, at which point they allowed him the solitude he so clearly desired. When he rejoined them, there was something strange behind his eye. A look not of determined revenge, but confused understanding. Not one of the travellers questioned it, knowing full well that the answer would come with the passage of time.

Instead, they finally set of for Stonegard. Instead, they finally allowed H'aanit to search out her Master.

Along the way, they stopped off in S'warkii in hope of finding some sign that he might've passed by and were quite unsurprised to find it the same as it had been when they left it. So, they journeyed half the world way again, Hägen's tail low as he feared for his Master.

Much came to light in that town. That her Master might've been having an affair with a towns woman was quite low on the list of surprises when it came out that Ophilia thought she was beauty. However, both those facts fell quite far behind them as Hägen lead them into the woods. As Hägen lead them to his Master.

Turned to stone by a monster no man had yet caught. Turned to stone even as he wrote directions to the woman who might save him.

More sombre than ever before, the travellers left town once again with their heads bowed low, now sure the world was not as good as they had once thought it.

Still, they had one another. And, between them, they had brought light to the lives of those who had once been lacking it. Together, they were sure they could face any problem they came across.

Together, the eight continued their journey, their search for answers, for people in need. Their search for adventure.

It was almost a shame they still had so much hardship ahead of them. So much blood had yet to be spilled, so much betrayal had yet to occur. So many familiar faces had yet to appear before them. So much was still left to be written, hidden behind a fate that only the Starseers could read.

However, they knew none of this as they returned once again to Victor's Hollow. They knew only that this was a town that the mysterious traveller Tressa followed had visited before he left his log behind on Captain Leon's ship. They knew only that Tressa expected to find treasure hiding behind one of the merchant stalls that she could share with the world at the Merchant's Fair.

And they were quite surprised when she found that treasure. Not because she had found it – they'd been travelling with her long enough to know she had a nose that could sniff out treasure over a mile away – but because she seemed confused by it. Leon's parting question had seemed to sit with her like the weight of the world on her shoulders, weighing her down as the rest of her group admired her new jewel.

For the first time, she was unsure why she travelled. She quite literally had the most precious jewel in the world in the palm of her hand, yet she couldn't say it was her greatest treasure. And if it wasn't, what was? Would she ever find it?

She was shockingly quiet as they journeyed back to Saintsbridge, healing the sick and injured on the way.

Upon returning to the riverside town, they met with a strange man, an apothecary unlike any they'd met before. He had the skills of Vanessa and the compassion enough to not charge his patients that Alfyn admired. But it was there his admiration ended. After all, he was leaving an injured man to die.

Why? Because he'd once been a thief, a stinking murder. The group rather prudently decided to keep Therion out of this apothecary's line of sight as Alfyn stepped up to heal the injured red-head.

His wounds were deep and seemingly determined to take him out, but Alfyn's desire to do go far outweighed their ability to take Miguel down. Alfyn's desire to do good make him blind to the bad in the world, ignorant to Ogen's rather useful advice.

Alfyn's desire to heal all almost got a young, innocent boy killed. Alfyn's desire to heal all lead to him killing a man he'd healed by his own hand, bloodying them in a way he'd taken a vow never to do.

Conflicted, now more than ever, over the path he walked, Alfyn asked Ogen why as he left town. Why adopt this careful screening process, why heal only those he deemed worthy to be healed? The story he heard was one not unfamiliar and left far more questions than answers in the young apothecary's mind.

Why did he travel? Why did he heal all? Were there some truly not worthy of life, of a second chance as Ogen had suggested?

The group journeyed onwards to Wellspring. To the black-market and Olberic's former partner.

With the team's two most plucky adventurers made sombre by their recent encounters with dark reality, the travellers journeyed in a strange silence, unsure of what this town would level at them.

They went in search of Erhardt first, in search of closure for Olberic on a chapter of his life that had haunted him for far, far too long. They went in search of Erhardt and found a town that sung his praises, the man who saved them from the Lizardmen.

Conflicting emotions continued to dance unrelentingly across Olberic's face as they made their way to the desert den. Until, quite suddenly, a determined resolution filled his eyes as he saw his former partner. As he realised just what it was that he still carried his blade for, for whom he still fought. It was for those he'd met this last near decade, those in the town he now called home, those who'd cheered for him in the Woodlands.

It was for those he travelled with, those who fought by his side and would support him as he sparred with Erhardt.

Resolved, Olberic heard his former partner's story and still held his blade to his throat, still demanded a duel. He fought not for his death, but for justice. For closure.

He fought in an effort to regain his trust. And he won.

With the name of the man who'd destroyed his Kingdom now released from Erhardt's lips, the knight was ready to journey onwards, to bring a little confidence in the good of the world back to those he travelled with. For every Miguel in the world, there was an Erhardt, someone worthy of the second chance Alfyn was so willing to give.

It was almost a shame this new found faith in the world was dashed so quickly the next day in the same town it was founded.

For the next day they met Therion's former partner, a man they'd not heard tell of at all from the silent thief as they travelled.

They met a man who gave Therion pause, who slipped out from under their thumb with the stones they'd been chasing. They met a man who had clearly meant a lot to a man who now travelled alone.

And quite suddenly things started to fall into place.

Silence was once again a rarity as they travelled back to Bolderfall, a general chatter filled the air around them as they tried to make conversation not with Therion nor about him, but to bring him out of his shell. Slowly but surely they'd been helping him to adjust to life as a person, but Darius reappearing seemed to knock him back to step one. They'd been on the cusp of making him trust them and were now certain that would never happen.

Until he spoke to young Lady Ravus. Then something clicked slowly behind his eye.

By the time they arrived back in Stillsnow, the air was filled not with filler conversation, but with genuine questions as the group got to know one another. As Therion started to open up, slowly but surely.

And, to be quite frank, even with their dangerous encounter with a dragon that protected the herb needed to save Z'aanta's life, the group's trip back to Stillsnow was their most enjoyable yet. Whenever Susanna's laughter filled the room, they almost forgot that this town had once house a terrible secret, that everywhere they walked darkness lurked not far behind.

It was almost a shame when they had to leave – not only because Primrose was enjoying watching H'aanit be completely oblivious to Alaic's clear attraction to her – because, in truth, this leg of their journey had been their most honest and open one yet.

And, while they knew not what was waiting around the corner, the faint sense of impending danger was undeniable as they made their way back to Goldshore.

Intrigue and kidnapping was the order of the day as Ophilia stepped up to the Cathedral to complete the Kindling. So kind at heart was she, that she didn't stop to even think of her own safety when she was told of the Archbishop's situation. She simply hoisted up her robes and waded into the seaside cave to save the girl. They all did, determined to see justice served, light returned to a realm so clearly lacking in it.

However, as was seeming to become the norm, the relief and joy that came from returning the Archbishop's daughter and completing the Kindling was quite short-lived. For Lianna was in town, bearing dark clothes and even darker news.

And leaving her alone with her sister was a mistake the team was sure to not make again.

A week later, when Ophilia was finally ready to stand again, to fight with them again, Primrose announced that they would be returning to Noblecourt next. She'd put off returning home long enough.

They were so sure they wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Not twice in a row.

They were so sure Simeon was who he said he was. So sure he was simply Primrose's former lover.

They were so, so certain they could leave him alone with her. That there wouldn't be any more of their friend's blood on their hands.

Darkness was everywhere, seeping out of every brick in the wall, every blade of grass, certainly out of every murder of crows. And still the travellers were surprised when they came across it, when they fell into its open arms as it welcomed them back.

And still they made the same mistake of letting one of their friend's travel separate from them as they showed Kit the travelling trope on the outskirts of town. Sure, he'd be surrounded by performers at all times, but could they really say he was safe unless they saw him by their sides, unless they were searching for his mysterious missing father with him?

And how exactly did they manage to fall for Lucia's words when they let Cyrus enter Yvon's manor house alone? How exactly had they thought it fine to take a quick lunch break at the nearby tavern as she showed Cyrus around?

What evil could have possibly possessed them to only act when he came to find them, ragged and battered having watched his student be captured after she saved his life?

How could they have watched and said nothing as he clearly lead the young girl on, so oblivious to the consequences of his own actions?

The third act of their journey had real been a disaster of darkness and narrowly dodging death. What waited for them beyond the horizon and boarders of the next towns they travelled to, the group knew not. They knew only that they needed to be cautious, more cautious than they had been thus far at least.

They knew only that they weren't done yet, not yet. H'aanit's Master still needed saving, Ophilia needed to complete the Kindling, Cyrus was still missing his book and Tressa had yet to visit the Merchant's Fair; Olberic had a meeting with the man who ruined his life while Primrose had a masterful tragedy to perform with the man who'd ruined hers. Alfyn needed guidance, a sign of what apothecarial path he should take and Therion needed closure, both regarding the Dragonstones and Darius.

There was much left they needed to understand, to see told. And they were going to do it together. No more going off alone.

They were a team of eight, a small army of rag-tag idealists ready to take on anything that came their way.

With Therion taking the lead, determined to close the door on Darius once and for all, they made their way to the frigid, thieving town of Northreach. And were faced with a situation far more dire than they'd expected. These townsfolk lived in the darkness six months of the year, yet were surrounded by crooks and thieves all twelve of them. Any other town like this, the group rather suspected Therion would fit in without making a fuss; here his face was on every corner, warnings and bounties chasing them around like a rabid dog.

So, when the army of thieves fell upon them they were ready. Or so they thought.

In the end, they were still out-manned, outnumbered in the most literal of senses. Any other occasion they rather suspected Therion would be embarrassed at being saved by the man who'd branded him a thief. However, in any other occasion, they rather suspected they wouldn't need the old man's help.

Here, now, they were grateful for it. They were grateful for Therion's skill as he stole the clothes right off the back of a higher thief and lead the team into the belly of the beast, to the last two Dragonstones and the man who'd taken them and this town as his own.

Quite the rejection it was when Therion told him he needed him not, that he believed in trust, as sappy a sentiment as that may have been. Quite the rejection it was for the small thief to beat him in battle, to take him out as his team watched on, ready to provide back-up when it was most needed.

And quite the revelation it was, when the group and Heathcote returned to Bolderfall, to find out that the Dragonstones were the key to opening something called The Gate of Finis. What that was, they did not yet know. But they suspected it wouldn't be long until they found out.

Having successfully removed the bangle from about Therion's wrist, the team next journeyed to the very edge of the Clifflands, to Orewell as they followed the still morose Alfyn.

No one liked seeing the chipper young man like this, not even strangers in the town who suspected he might have caught the very ailment he was healing. Not even Ogen, who's fault it was that Alfyn now carried his head low, his heart full of ill ease.

But that didn't stop Alfyn taking the older man under his wing when he fell sick, dying of a deathly plague the likes of which none of the travellers had ever seen.

Yet, with the odds stacked sky high against him, Alfyn found a letter in his satchel. A letter that struck not one but all his cords. A note that lead him rushing to Ogen's bedside, new found determination in his eye as he eased his pain before rushing out just as quickly in search of an unknown cure. Until, that was, he remembered he'd suffered from this same malady himself. Until, that was, he remembered the man who'd saved him.

And, as fortune would have it, the one item he needed was only an Ogre Eagle away. With his friends at his side, they helped keep the monster busy as he stole a pinion, as he brewed a most potent potion. With his friends by his side, he sprinted back to town, to save the life of a man who didn't want to be saved.

Within the week, Ogen was back on his feet. And in that week, the travellers learnt much about the man who'd saved and shaped not only Alfyn's, but also Ogen's life.

Graham Crossford.

Apparently dead, Alfyn set up a grave for him, a simple grave with only a handful of flowers and two apothecaries in front of it. But he suspected Graham would have wanted nothing more flashy than that.

He suspected Graham was watching over them, perhaps not from far.

Once again filled with a sudden determination, the group said nothing as Primrose decided to lead them next to Everhold, the town Simeon apparently hid from her in. Yet they did not find him in hiding when they arrived. In fact, they found him centre stage – metaphorically, he was actually in the upper right wing – as a play he'd scripted started up on the stage. As he taunted the woman he'd tried to kill, practically begging her to settle the score as he jeered from on high.

With every step, more memories from Primrose's past were performed by charlatans on the stage, amateurs who'd never once felt the pain they performed. With every step, her friends stood by her side, offering her their ear and words of support as they drowned out the fumbled lines on stage, the applause from the crowd.

Yet still she was anxious as they appeared before Simeon, her blade quivering even as she brought it to his chest as they danced. A dance like no other, a battle of not blades but skill as they outmanoeuvred each other, brought each other to their knees.

Until finally she'd had enough. He had no place in her heart any longer, no longer. And so she brought her blade down against him, spilt his blood in the name of justice.

She had not one regret as the play came to a close, as the curtain was lowered on her revenge and she was finally able to stand before her father's grave.

And yet the words wouldn't come as she did. Only tears came as her friends gave her her space and she realised she had no reason to travel anymore, nothing to pull her on through her life.

That was, until she looked up and saw her travelling companions waiting for her outside the tavern.

Her journey might well be over, but theirs were yet to be told – or just beginning again. There would always be someone, something to fight for when she stood by their side.

So they travelled on, back to the Riverlands. So they travelled on, to end a man Olberic had been seeking out for years.

They found the town 'Lord' Werner commanded a hell-scape. Bribes were almost as common as public execution, fear seeped out of every crevice, every crack in the mortar and every chip in the stones. This town had not known happiness since Werner had arrived and had resigned themselves to never knowing it again.

At least on the surface.

Soon Olberic learnt of a rebellion, of a way to gain an audience with Werner and free the town from his tyranny in one fell swoop. As ever, his travelling companions stood ready at his side, keen to see justice served.

Yet unsurprised when they discovered Werner knew of their plan – nothing ever went perfectly for them, after all. Their lack of surprise quickly changed when Erhardt appeared to fight by Olberic's side, a pair no one had ever thought they'd see side by side again. But times were desperate, and Werner needed to be removed from his throne. With the team now split in two as one group decided to stay behind to heal the wounded and fight back the archers while the other took down Werner, they knew the odds were once again stacked against them.

What they didn't know was that Werner would turn his blade inwards when things didn't go his way.

With only the new found knowledge that the Gate of Finis apparently resided in former Hornburg, the group returned to Harold and told him the news that he was once again lord of the land.

They stayed long enough to see him settle before promising Erhardt they'd be sure to grab him when they made their way back to Hornburg and being on their way. They still had four more stories to tell, after all. Four more towns to save.

Or, one supposes, three more towns to save, and a Merchant's Fair to win. For that was where they travelled next, Eldrite in hand. Yet Tressa still seemed unsure of her self, thinking the Eldrite unworthy of the money it was clearly worth.

It wasn't until her true treasure was stolen from her that she realised why. It wasn't until she went in desperate search of her diary that she realised just how great her friends were, ready to follow her into the sewers as they chased down the woman who'd stolen her book. A woman who looked an awful lot like she ran in Simeon's old gang.

She hadn't realised Ali was one of her close friends until she returned to the stage, treasure in hand and saw he'd managed to hold off the auction until she returned, even if that meant he might lose.

And he did. All the merchants there that night did. For it was only Tressa who knew who to market her sales pitch to, what a sheltered girl like Noa would want: a tale like no other, told by real people of the real, great wide world beyond the horizon.

But it was only after she sold it on that she learnt the name of the one who wrote it, the one who's footsteps she followed:

Graham Crossford, travelling apothecary.

Dots were rapidly being connected, questions answered. Yet still, there were more answers to find. And more people to help.

People like young Kit, who stood just outside of Goldshore, having followed his trope all over the world in search of his father. He thought he was close now, close enough that he'd asked to leave the trope in search of him, a destination now in mind.

So they left him again, and journeyed another half the world away back to the Woodlands where H'aanit's journey had first began.

Yet they came back there not for H'aanit, but for Cyrus. _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ was nearly in his grasp, but a Lucia out of his reach. Having come all this way, he'd settle for nothing less than the original copy in his hands, Lucia handcuffed behind him as he returned her to the academy to make her atone for her crimes.

Yet the extent of Lucia's crimes could not be fully known, for she died surrounded by stolen tomes before she could tell them. For she died a monster, transformed by blood magic from a tome she could not fully comprehend – too consumed by her lust for power to search for the true answers to the mysteries it held.

Cyrus searched only for true knowledge, for an understanding that would tell him whether or not to burn the book he'd so desperately searched out and send it's ashes down from whence it's title came. In his search, he translated the mural the caves contained, a mural containing a simple prophecy of death, doom and destruction should the gate it depicted be opened.

Now more than ever, the group needed to hurry down to former Hornburg, to close a Gate they were starting to fear had been left open all too long.

They had but two more important stops to make. And Ophilia's lead them to the inside of a Flatland jail cell, her sister sat on the otherside, begging her to understand, to join her in the darkness as she sought to bring back her father.

Her motivations, Ophilia and the others could quite easily understand. Her actions? Not so much.

No one can bring back the dead. Anyone who claims otherwise is either a liar or trying to sell something.

So Ophilia fought back, desperately finding the light that hid so deep in this town, the light that would bring her sister back from her 'saviour's' devilish clutches. For he was no saviour, only a man scorched so badly by Aelfric's flame that he became convinced the Dark God's flame would be kinder.

A man Ophilia had to put to rest if she wanted any chance of seeing her sister safe again, any chance of finishing her pilgrimage and the Kindling.

The Rite was completed without too much trouble, but there was still sadness in the wind. The loss of the Archbishop to his age and his daughter to her own fears was something not easy for the town to overcome. Yet, slowly but surely, Ophilia managed to bring back some light to her sister's life. She was able to help her see that death need not be the end. In fact, if she squinted, it might even be a new beginning.

So she left the town a little brighter than it had been before, her journey with her seven friends not yet complete. H'aanit's Master was still encased in stone, after all.

And what a journey she'd travelled on before she even dared to finish her own. Quite surprisingly selfless, the huntress had travelled many times around Orsterra with her friends, never stopping to ask when she might be allowed time to seek out Redeye and save her Master. She simply helped the others on their journeys first, never a complaint uttered.

So of course they didn't complain as they made their way to Marsalim, to their last battle.

They travelled not in reluctance, for they knew they would still travel together again when this battle was done, to see the final secret hidden in Hornburg's ruins. They travelled in caution, wary of the half stone monsters they fought as they made their way to a crypt in which an entire army had been petrified.

And what a sight it was, seeing a score of men made stone by a beast no one had yet seen and lived to tell the tale. And what a beast it was, for he gave not a beastly roar but a raspy one. One that almost seemed to come from the mouth of a human, not the back of a demon's throat.

Most curiously, H'aanit could not get a read of this beast, this monster that had managed to get the better of her Master. And when he roared again, he sounded unsure, reluctant to fight almost, like something was holding him back. There was one occasion, during their battle with the beast, where something most confounding happened. All of a sudden, the beast became most still, silent on the spot as his arms fell to his sides and a look of almost human confusion came to his devilish eyes.

For he had healed H'aanit.

Not by much, to be sure, no more than a bunch of grapes could. But it was a most curious interaction when he had previously been trying to turn them to stone like the figures behind them.

It was enough to give the group their own pause as they wondered what might possess a demon to do such a thing. As they wondered if, perhaps, Redeye hadn't always been the beast that now bellowed before them.

For quickly those thoughts were dashed and the monster fell to the floor, beaten at last, the curse he wove finally lifted from those he'd injured across the realm. Feasts and honours fell quickly to the wayside as H'aanit promised to one day return. There was someone she must see first.

And what a sight it was to see him as alive and jovial as ever! As strong as he was before as he hoisted her onto his shoulder, praising her for saving him while saying he hadn't _really_ needed to be.

Regardless, Z'aanta was finally safe and returned. And ready and willing to listen to her first story. And quite the story it had been, her first wild hunt.

Yet it wasn't over, not yet.

For when they all returned to S'warkii, they encountered a travelling trope under the talon of a tiger. They encountered a love bitten knight on his way back home to his true ladylove.

They learnt of where their fellow traveller had thought he could find his father, of whom claimed they knew where he was.

And so they ran, stopping only twice in towns: to deliver a Mind-Me-Always bloom to Ogen and request his assistance; and to grab Erhardt from the Wellspring barracks, inviting him to help them take down one more threat to his former home. And so they ran, stopping but four more times as they challenged the four Gods dotted around the realm to gain their power and wisdom before they took on their wayward, evil brother. And so they ran, fear spurring their every step as darkness seemed to pull them forward, into the forgotten lands of Hornburg, towards the mysterious Gate said to reside nearby.

What a sight it was, that Gate. Monstrous in more than just the power it emitted. For outside it stood Lyblac, telling Kit in such dulcet tones that his father was just on the other side of the gate to Hell and beyond. The Gate that just barely contained Galdera. In a wicked purr, she invited the travellers and their friends in, welcoming them to try to take her on.

She warned them that the Gate would not open again once closed.

But they did not hesitate. Made cautiously optimistic in their time travelling the realm, the group quite confidently entered to the land beyond. Drawn to the eight flames that taunted them through the hall, the eight travellers made their way to them with not a moment hesitation, their hands steady as they drew their weapons and challenged phantoms who had once posed a great threat.

There was, however, no room for hesitation beyond the Gate of Finis. Even one hint thereof would have lead to their souls being eternally condemned, locked in Hell with no sign of release.

So they fought for their lives. For the lives of all those they'd met across Orsterra who might die if Galdera were to be released. They fought for Graham, the man they now knew as Kit's father. The man who'd healed them from within Redeye's malicious grasp. They fought for Kit, to save him from the same fate.

They fought for light, for life. They fought for truth, for knowledge. They fought for treasure, for an adventure like no other. They fought for redemption, for those they'd sworn to protect. They fought for revenge, for a the life they'd been robbed of. They fought for succour, for those who couldn't fight for themselves. They fought for freedom, for those who'd put their trust in them. They fought for their Master, the man who would always believe the most unbelievable of stories.

They fought for each other and with one another. To have travelled this far together, they would have been foolish to not see the battle at their journey's end.

And when their wounds had healed from the first round of fighting, they ran up the stairs to the second, to the Witch who'd stolen their friend from them.

At the base of the stairs they strategised, becoming two teams who would face the unholy God at the same time.

On the ground floor, H'aanit stood ready, six weapons in her hands and Linde at her side. Tressa sharpened her blades and prepared her runic incantations as Alfyn organised his satchel and straightened his merchant's hat. Besides them, Therion stood with a dancer's poise, ready to take on the end of the world as he danced his spells.

On the top, Cyrus lead the way with his sorcerer's staff, Olberic in hunting garb by his side. Ogen stood close to Primrose as she toyed with her sharpened dagger and thieving sword; Erhardt stood by Ophilia as she practised her spells, almost comically studious in her scholar's robes.

But there was no room for laughter here. Galdera, having consumed Kit Crossford's spirit, stood before them revived and ready, consuming his very daughter and he stood to take them on, to take on their very souls before he took on the world.

Quite the group of fools they were. A team of ten and a leopard thinking they could take on a God, could save the world.

But there's a funny phenomenon that can occur when one thinks they can do something that defies all logic: they can overcome the seemingly impossible.

For, with enough willpower, I am told anything is possible. Even a team of rag-tag misfits defeating Galdera and belaying a seemingly inevitable apocalypse. Even a team of travellers saving their friend as the God returned to dust and the Gate of Finis reopened.

Even a team of travellers getting to say one last goodbye to the man who'd set them on their journey, one way or another. For without Graham, without Kit, they would have not needed to leave the town they were raised in. They would not have wandered into each other's open arms, ready to see the world and what it had to offer.

They would not have continued to travel after seeing all the atrocities they had, after falling at almost every hurdle.

They would not have succeeded at telling this tale. At having a story all their own carved into the fabric of time itself, waiting to be retold and rewritten a thousand times over by those who don't know the truth.

So to those who still read their unabridged tale, I offer you Graham's final words:

"Every road is yours to take. So journey forth, friend, into this great world we live in… and find an adventure all your own."


	60. Hidden Scholar

_One day I'll write a story about Cyrus and Therion that isn't a joke and/or full of sexual tension. Today is not that day._

* * *

 _Who'd have thought Therion had an intellectual mind just waiting to be expanded?_

* * *

Hidden Scholar

If there was one thing Cyrus enjoyed about travelling the realm with Therion, it was that he always knew he'd have the evenings to himself. Once they'd completed their tasks for the day, Cyrus would retire to their inn room as Therion found his way to the local tavern, picking pockets as he went. And for a few quiet hours every night, Cyrus could study in peace, sharpening his ears as he desperately tried to pick out Therion's silent footsteps and prepare himself for his return.

Tonight, however, the thief's footsteps were far from silent. They stomped, interrupted by swears and curses as Therion made his way down the quiet hall, waking up the other patrons as he struggled. Confused, Cyrus simply listened in wait, hoping he'd stumble into the right door.

"Whatcha looking at?!" He heard Therion shout quite suddenly. Without thinking, Cyrus was on his feet, rushing out their shared room.

"You gotta problem wit' me?!" Therion shouted, lumbering towards the large mercenary in the room opposite them – who looked all too shocked that a tiny drunken thief was standing on the other side of his door to truly know how to react.

"Pardon me, kind sir." Cyrus said delicately, embarrassed on behalf of Therion as he firmly grabbed his shoulders and turned him towards their room. Therion didn't struggle from the scholar's grasp, but he did maintain eye contact with the mercenary even as he was taken away, shaking in drunken anger.

Though Cyrus had been gentle with the young lad out in the hallway, as soon as the door closed behind them and they were alone in the room, he took a hold of him by the scruff of his scarf and threw him onto his bed.

"OW!" Therion exclaimed – not in pain, but shock – as his head hit the pillows. "What the hell, Cyrus?!"

"Drop the act, Therion." Cyrus said quite simply, a stern look in his eye as he watched Therion draw himself up in anger, a hint of a smile hiding behind his eye. He'd seen this a few times now, drunken act that Therion sometimes employed to gain the trust of strangers as he lent into them and stole their purse. To be quite frank, Cyrus rather preferred it when the thief just acted his role and stole silently. It was certainly less embarrassing.

"One of these nights, I'm actually going to come in here drunk and you're going to feel terrible for treating me this way." He said as he laid down, kicking his feet over his knees as he got comfortable.

"I rather doubt that." Cyrus countered, returning to his books in silence, hoping Therion would pick up on his desire to not talk.

Of course, he didn't. Or, if he did, he flagrantly decided to ignore it. "What's on the reading list tonight, Prof?"

Early in their journey together when Therion asked that question, Cyrus would answer honestly in the hopes that he might be interested. After the third over dramatic yawn and fart noise, Cyrus had decided to ignore those questions knowing a problem student when he saw one. Today, however, he was reading something he'd rather like the thief to learn about.

"An ethical study of when theft is an appropriate course of action."

"Like when you _really_ want something that someone else has." Therion nodded in complete misunderstanding.

"No. A correct example would be when one steals a loaf of bread to feed one's family. Or when one steals something from a rich person to give to someone in need."

"So, if I were to steal your cloak and give it to someone without a cloak, that would be an example of moral theft?" Therion asked, the disinterested tone in his voice not as disinterested as usual.

"Well, if you were just doing that to piss me off, then no. However, if there were other factors at play-"

"Such as?"

Cyrus raised an eyebrow as he turned to look a the thief. He never interrupted him with a question, normally he interrupted with a crude joke or retching noise. "Well, for example… If we were in the Frostlands and you came across someone without a cloak and I had two cloaks, stealing one of my cloaks to give to the cloakless person would be an example of moral theft."

"I see." There was a thoughtful interest behind Therion's eye that Cyrus wasn't exactly sure he trusted. "And if that cloakless person came up to us, told us they were cold and asked to borrow your cloak, responding with 'well damn, friend, I can't control the weather!' would be an example of-"

"Being a dick."

Therion pointed at Cyrus in understanding, a grin on his face as he seemingly started to get into this discussion. "Right, and if giving that cloak away eventually lead to us facing off against the person in combat later in our journey, that would be an example of chaos theory?"

"Well, no, not quite." Cyrus had to assume the thief was actually drunk now, there was no way he was actually having a scholarly discussion with him.

"What's chaos theory again, then?" He asked, sitting up straight as he started to get into the discussion, a genuine interest in his voice and behind his eye.

"Are you sure you're not drunk?" Cyrus couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He mock exclaimed. "I forgot I'm just meant to be the lovable idiot thief who cares not for intellectual discussions and must just sit here and look pretty!"

"No, Therion-" Cyrus shook his head, coming to sit opposite him on his own bed as Therion turned defiantly away. "That is not what I meant-"

"So you do think I'm pretty?" He asked, as he turned back, a wicked grin on his face.

"I… don't know how to respond to that..." Cyrus responded rather quietly, not really sure how this topic had come up. Again. "I simply… Well, rather, I never expect you to take such a genuine interest in my studies."

"Life ain't too kind to those who grow up on the streets, Professor." Therion shook his head, sitting up once again as he brought his knees to his chest. "I didn't have much of a choice but to steal - I wanted to survive after all. But if things had gone differently… I dunno, I'd rather have liked the chance to study."

"It's never to late to learn, Therion." Cyrus offered with a smile. "I would be happy to tutor you as we travel. And I know there are always a few extra seats in my lectures at the Academy."

"It's because they're so boring." Therion mumbled, looking a little red in the face as he turned away, clearly embarrassed at having admitted something so personal.

Cyrus smiled to himself as he stood up, removing his cloak and starting to get ready to turn in for the night. "You know, stealing the Dragonstones back for the Ravus' is an example of moral theft."

"Doesn't doing it just to get something out of it negate anything moral about it?" Therion asked, turning his back to the scholar as he too changed into his lighter clothes.

"Absolutely, yes." Cyrus nodded to himself as a small smile came to his face. "However, I don't think you're searching these Dragonstones out purely for your own, personal gain."

There was a silence in the room as they let the insinuations of that statement wash over them. Outside the window, the howlers were starting to take to the skies to catch the even louder nocturnal bugs. In the room opposite them, the mercenary was starting to snore...

Finally, with a slight cough, Therion broke their room's silence. "What's chaos theory, then?"

Taking a seat on his bed again as he took down his hair, Cyrus smiled again, an encouraging smile that he hoped would let the thief know he wanted to have this sort of discussion again sometime. "It's the supposed theory that every little action that takes place has an impact on something much bigger than itself. For example, a butterfly flapping its wings at just the right time a mile from here causing it to rain in the Sunlands tomorrow."

"Do you believe it?" Therion asked, clearly curious.

The scholar shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

Once again, silence fell upon them as they got into their beds and thoughts ran rampant behind Therion's eye. Cyrus watched in curiosity, wondering just what the thief would come out with this time.

"So, the act of me running out of provisions just outside of Atlasdam, forcing me to come into the town and accidentally meeting you as you also went to the provisions shop… This could be the start of a string of chaotic events that eventually lead to us hooking up?"

"Oh, Therion." Cyrus tuned to him with a wicked grin and wink. "When we eventually 'hook up', I can assure you it will be entirely on chaotic purpose."

The answering, immediate beet red the thief turned was worth all the other times his insinuating jokes had turned Cyrus that shade put together. With a slight chuckle, Cyrus turned away. "This has been a most stimulating conversation, Therion. We should have one again some time. ...Sleep well."


	61. Beast

_Redeye hadn't always been a monster._

* * *

Beast

In the beginning, he'd come to more and more frequently. His actions as the monster he'd become would be cut quite suddenly short as he ran away screaming. A scream not of the beast the warriors had fought, but of a man terrified of the horrors he'd wrought, of the sight before his eyes as they opened after what felt like a blink but was actually a matter of hours.

Nowadays, it wasn't so much matter of hours as it was days, weeks even.

For the last thing he remembered seeing was the hunter and his wolf. An arrow poised to strike even as fear shone in his eyes, he'd been barking orders to his men as he desperately told them to flee coming in a quavering tone, his hand shaking even as his wolf did. And then, in a most horrifying moment, something snapped in the hunter's eye. Something changed for fear to mad, unashamed terror as something just as obviously snapped in the monsters own.

The last thing he saw before his eyes closed once again and his scream turned from his own into that of the beast was the man turn to his wolf and order him away too. He told him to run and find H'aanit. Whom H'aanit was, the beast knew not.

Not yet.

Still, when next he opened his eyes and saw that he was somehow now in a Marsalim crypt, a whole score of men and monsters turned to stone before him, he remembered her name. With just enough consciousness of mind, he wrote her a note that she might read if she happened upon this place after he'd lost himself again and wandered somewhere else.

He wrote it not only for her, but also for Kit. The boy needed closure after everything that had happened, he needed this chapter of his life to close if he was to ever move forward.

Yet, when H'aanit arrived before him with her three travelling companions and snow leopard partner, he was still partially himself.

Or, at least, he was enough himself for him to scream as a man not a beast. He was enough himself to recognise the diary in the young merchant's bag, the satchel at the apothecary's waist, the god forsaken book in the scholar's cloak. Whomever these three people were, he knew them, he'd directly influenced two of them. And none of them had any idea who he was, or even that he'd once been a man.

For now he stood before them a mutated beast with blood red eyes and tattered rags for clothes. He stood before them a monster who could communicate only in screams he hoped the mighty huntress would understand as apologies and pleads for mercy, for death. He screamed for them to kill him quick so that they might have a chance before the beast within returned to rear its ugly head.

They heard none of this and saw only a beast approaching them as they drew their weapons. There was a fear behind their eye much like everyone else who'd faced him thus far. However, there was something else behind their eye, to their expression and they way they held themselves. It wasn't confidence nor determination, but rather the realisation that they couldn't lose this fight. That, if they lost this fight, this beast would be allowed to roam free, to turn those they'd met on their journey to stone too.

It was a burning desire to do good, to be good. It was a desire to overcome all odds and win. It was a desire to save their friends, to save the world - if time allowed.

And it was enough to keep Graham's consciousness close to the surface as the beast overwhelmed him with it's desire to fight, to do harm.

Whenever he could, he forced the beast he'd become to stop, to take a moment to breathe as they prepared their next attack. Whenever he could, he forced his consciousness to the forefront of the beast's mind, throwing his concoctions towards the team as he tried to heal them, to keep them from turning to stone as everyone who'd come before them had.

And, the funny thing was, this didn't throw them off, it didn't tip them off to who this monster might be. Instead, they simply straightened their back after each healing mist and stood tall, blades at the ready.

For the first time, Graham saw a freedom from this prison his life had become since his wife had died, since that awful witch had come into his life with that terrible proposition. For the first time, he saw hope for his son if he was to succumb to her charms too. For these travellers would save him, would save them all.

No matter the cost, the danger, these travellers would overcome it for those they cared for.

And with the desire to save H'aanit's Master burning deep inside them all, they rose to the occasion. They beat the beast.

The scream it let out upon death was not one of pain, but gratitude. Of Graham cheering as his soul was finally released, saved from this eternal damnation. Where he was headed next, he knew not. But he knew it was better this way, for the sake of humanity. For the sake of H'aanit, her Master and those she called friends. For the sake of his son.

As he turned to dust, Graham reached out a hand in thanks, pointing to the column next to the travellers, the column upon which he'd written his final words.

And so he fell into such a sweet, never ending sleep. And so he found the atonement he'd so desperately sought.


	62. In Pursuit of Power

_There's going to be a running theme for this month's five stories: The other side of the story._

 _These next five stories all focus on one of the game's villains and their side of the story. Similar to Valentine's week's stories, these all relate to one another in some way but are also independent tales in their own right. Unlike Valentine's week, these aren't being posted every day for a week - I've at least learnt not to that again! - and will instead be posted as usual every Saturday._

 _I've also read a lot of the lore on these characters that wasn't necessarily said out right in the game and is instead hidden on the wiki pages. So, while I believe most of what is mentioned in these stories is true to the characters as mentioned in the wiki and game, there are definitely a few creative liberties taken_ _here and there._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoy this month's stories!_

* * *

 _Darius wanted only one thing: to be the greatest, most powerful thief in Orsterra._

* * *

In Pursuit of Power

The worlds not particularly kind to those with no home nor family to call their own. Without the guidance of a parental figure in ones life, one will grow up with a moral view far more loose than most. Without a home to return to at the end of every night, one is more likely to wander, ever searching for a stoop to sleep on, a pocket to pick so that they might be able to eat that night.

Darius was simply foolish enough to wander into Riverford with sticky fingers and a silver tongue at just the wrong time.

The last time he'd stepped foot in the town he'd barely been more than a toddler and the towns folk had been more than happy to put him up and offer him food. Perhaps he'd been foolish to take more than his fair share and sneak out from his shelter in the middle of the night, but he certainly wasn't going to stay around long enough for them to ask him to do their chores in exchange for the shelter they'd offered him.

He hadn't needed the shelter, after all. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, even as a young child.

Still, he hadn't expected Riverford to have changed so much in just the two years since Lord Werner had established his reign.

A toll at the gates that was almost painfully easy to steal back as he made his way through; guards at every food stall watching every customer closely as they made their transactions – apparently not close enough to notice Darius slip the vendor a fake coin in exchange for his goods as he stole even more. The town was a thief's nightmare, but Darius was determined to make it his own.

If he was smart about it, he could probably rise to a position of power in the town without much trouble, even as a teen. Of course, he'd have to use underhanded means if he wanted to gain enough political sway in the government to get a meeting with Werner. A few well placed bribes would probably do the trick, though a longer play to get a read on the town itself was probably not the worst idea…

"Stop! Thief!"

"Bugger." Darius muttered under his breath, immediately running without turning to look back at the toll guards chasing after him. In a place like this, Darius rather suspected that even the best thief would have trouble slipping under the radar. And he certainly wasn't the best thief in the world, not yet at least.

He also wasn't the best at hiding in a town he wasn't too familiar with. A turn down just the wrong alley lead him right into the arms of another guard. And he certainly wasn't strong enough to take on someone twice his age and height, least of all someone with the scars, missing teeth and broken nose of many previous battles.

"No good little bastard," the guard spat at him as he dragged him to the town's dungeon. "We'll teach ye manners, even if we havta beat 'em into ye."

"Is that what they did to you?" Darius asked, spitting right back at the guard and grinning up at his broken nose as they appeared before an empty cell.

Poking fun at the guard perhaps wasn't his best idea. Before he even had time to flinch, the guard struck his blade horizontally across Darius' face, cutting a clean line below his eyes and across his nose. He didn't scream in pain – he knew how foolish that would be – he didn't even raise his hands to his face to put pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding. No, all he did was stand there, wide eyed in shock as the guard laughed at him.

"Rot'en brat." The guard said as he opened the door and shoved the stunned young thief into his new home. "Let's see how well ye do in here with a face like tha'."

And so the cell slammed shut and Darius was left alone without any means to clean the blood that flowed so freely down his face. A cut like this certainly wasn't going to help his reputation in towns, they'd take one look at his disfigured face and tattered rags and think the worst. Still, he supposed if he played his cards right and acted the part of the injured mercenary, he might have a chance…

Of course, if he wanted any chance of stealing from other towns, he'd have to get out of this dungeon first. Thankfully, the guard hadn't noticed the pins he hid under his belt…

Even as he pulled his pins out and came close to the lock, Darius stopped. There was fresh blood covering his clothes, dripping quite freely off of them and onto the floor. If he were to try to make an escape right now, the tell tale splatter of his blood on the floor would lead the guards right to his location. It would be a foolish move that would end up with him right back here where he started.

He'd have to wait until the bleeding stopped and his wound scabbed over. Five days a most, he decided. That's how long he could afford to wait. Any longer and he'd be putting himself in danger. He'd heard tales and whispers of what this town did to thieves and murderers every week, he'd rather not end up like that.

So he waited, tearing strips of cloth from the bed to tie around his face like a bandage to stop the bleeding and hopefully heal his wounds quicker. By the morning of the third day, the wound had finally scabbed over. Messily, with puss gathering close to the edges, admittedly, but it was healed enough that he'd be able to make an escape when the guards weren't watching that evening.

He'd be able to run again, out of town this time and into the forest, far enough away that they wouldn't be able to catch him. Saintsbridge would be his home for now, there were always healers about around there, waiting to take pity on a young boy who'd been abused by his parents.

Yes, he'd be able to stay there long enough to heal up. Then he could try his talents elsewhere… The Clifflands were always a good place to steal...

His plotting was cut short as the guard returned to his cell, dragging another young lad behind him. The lad looked not much younger than he was, yet he was covered in far more cuts and scrapes, the bottom of a scar cutting his right eye in two just peaking out from under the fringe he was clearly growing to keep it hidden. Evidentially, this little thief wasn't as good as Darius was. Perhaps he'd be able to rope him into his employ, teaching him how to be a better thief as he travelled, taking more than his fair share of the treasures they stole together.

A new plan formed in the depth of his mind as he watched the lad get struck by the guard, as he introduced himself and got greeted by a tongue as sharp as his own as the lad made fun of his wound. Thinking nothing of it – he'd have plenty of time to teach the brat some manners on the road – Darius pulled out his pins and got to work.

Only for the bastard to reveal that he stole the keys from the guard when he struck him.

Immediately realising that this lad was already a better thief than he was, Darius made a proposition as they made their way out the cell. They would be partners in crime.

The look on Therion's face said it all. Yes, he was a better thief than Darius, but he was too trusting, too naive. He'd never think for a second that Darius was taking more than his fair share of what they stole together. He'd follow along like a little lost puppy, trusting his every word, never expecting that Darius didn't reciprocate that trust, that Darius was only looking out for one person: Himself.

So they ran out the dungeon, stealing back their weapons and the guards' purses as they laughed, dodging around them as they made their way back into town.

And dammit, Therion knew just the best place to hide where they wouldn't be caught! The damned tea leaf was good, Darius begrudgingly admitted. But just because he was better now didn't mean Darius couldn't become better in the future. It didn't mean this couldn't be a learning experience for both of them.

Darius would learn how to lead people, how to trick his underlings into thinking he cared about them, into letting them believe they were getting their fair share of the goods they stole together. And Therion, he'd learn not to be so trusting, so naive.

For Darius would betray him when a better opportunity arose.

In the meantime, the two of them travelled half the continent picking pockets and stealing gems. In the meantime, Darius got to watch Therion in action as he stole.

The kid a tongue made of silver and fingers made of glue. What he couldn't steal, he'd talk a person into parting with; what he couldn't get them to give away, he'd trade for, either stealing the traded good right back or trading something so obviously worth nothing that he was happy to part with it for something so much more valuable.

And people just took him at face value, ignoring his scarred eye and believing his every word as he either charmed them or drew himself up to a position of authority no teenager would ever have. He swindled merchants better than any thief Darius had ever seen, he stole without a second glance from every stall they came across, taking in the value of everything in but a glance and knowing just what was most valuable even when Darius did not.

Of course he was jealous of him.

However, Therion was also used to reporting to him, to giving him the goods he stole to sell on. And Darius was sure to keep more than his fair share of the sale without Therion suspecting.

But that was the thing, Therion did suspect that Darius took more than his fair share, that he held on to more of the coins they stole together than he gave back. He just never voiced his concerns. He was completely trusting of Darius, putting his worries to the side and assuming he was just thinking the worst of someone who didn't deserve it.

It didn't matter that Darius would yell at him when he was drunk, calling him all kinds of names that he absolutely _did_ mean that Therion would just put down to the alcohol, even going so far as to make him hangover tonics the morning after. It didn't matter that Darius would pin him against the wall by the throat, getting up in his face as he pulled back his fringe and prodded at his scar, telling him he would have never gotten a scar that ugly on his beautiful face even as his own stood prominently every time he looked in a puddle; Therion would simply apologise, offering it steal him some woman's make-up so that he could cover it up if it bothered him so much. It didn't matter that Darius would cut his fingers every time someone caught him stealing and they'd have to run out of town; Therion would only offer an apology yet again, bandaging his hand up and offering some of his own food rations to make up for what he'd lost in that town.

Darius could and did abuse him in every way possible and Therion would simply take it as a learning experience. He would promise to be better, to do better so that he didn't disappoint his partner again.

Oh, he _hated_ him. Every fibre of his being hated the white haired man he travelled with. Yet he couldn't part ways with him, he was just too good to leave behind when he had nothing bigger waiting for him on the horizon.

Then finally, five years after Darius had called him his partner, tales of the Ciannos crime family having a treasure worth more than any other in the world brought the pair out of their base of operation in the Clifflands heights and back to Riverford. Darius told Therion this was just another theft, even as he planned to make it something more. Even as he planned to use it as an opportunity to finally gain some power.

Together, the two of them stormed the boats while the Ciannos were away stealing from Werner. Together, they gathered up as much gold as the eye could see and got their hands on what Therion thought their great treasure was: a diamond as big as a fist. However, Darius knew better. As Therion started to lay down the explosives under the boards of the boats, Darius went searching through the holds and found it, their real treasure.

A golden stone no bigger than the diamond.

Pocketing it quickly, he knew how he could gain an audience with them now, how he could gain the power he so desired. And how he could get rid of Therion while doing so.

That night was the first time Therion spoke out. It was the first time he asked if Darius was taking more than his fair share of their stolen gold.

So perhaps that was why he decided to make their parting even swifter.

For that night, after seeing the drunken Therion safely off to bed as he played the part of the jollily drunk Darius himself, the ginger thief snuck out of their shared in room and back to the Ciannos' boats, happy to find them sunk.

"Oi, mates!" He called to them, laughing as they all drew their weapons on him. Evidentially his reputation proceeded him.

"Take one more step and we hand you over to the guards." Their leader – Ciannos himself – said simply in a rather quiet voice.

"Oh, I don't think you'll do that, mates." Darius laughed again, pulling their stolen diamond from his pouch. "'Cause I don't think you'll want'em findin' out about this beaut."

Ciannos was rightly wary, ordering his men to lower their weapons with a gesture. "Why return what you stole from us?"

"'Cause I'm tired of the man I travel with," Darius said, spitting into the sand. "No good layabout who can't do anythin' right. Stole your gold 'cause he thought this was just a crystal not worth his time."

"And you want us to make him 'disappear'?"

"No. I want to do that myself." A dark grin crept onto Darius' face as he thought of killing Therion once and for all.

"Then what do you want from us?" Ciannos asked, clearly frustrated.

"You've heard of me and my partner's exploits no doubt?"

Ciannos tilted his head to the side in agreement of his skill. "I've heard you can steal a crutch from the injured and leaves from the church, Master Therion."

That… Complicated matters. Darius had hoped to make them think Therion's stealing prowess was his own, he just hoped they hadn't heard his name. Still, the Ciannos were only a stopping off point. All Darius need from them was information about the golden stone he'd stolen. He'd heard tale that it could give a man all the power he'd ever wanted, he just needed to know how to unlock it.

So he'd go by Therion's name for a while. How much harm could that do?

"And now you've seen me skill with your own eyes." He held up the diamond again. "Give me a rank among your men and I'll return this diamond to you."

"You'd do that just to get rid of your partner?" Ciannos asked, not saying no.

"Mate," Darius grinned. "You have no idea what I'd do to get rid of that tea leaf."

Ciannos turned to confer with his men for a moment, clearly trusting Darius enough to turn his back to him. It looked like these idiots would be easy to fool as well.

"Deal." Ciannos said, turning back and offering his hand. "We'll even give you enough leaves to make your partner think you sold the diamond."

With that, hands were shook and the diamond exchanged hands for a sack of leaves.

"I'll return in three days." Darius said as he left them, not turning his back on them once.

"We look forward to working with you, Therion." Ciannos said, too far away to see Darius grit his teeth.

 _It won't be for long._ Darius reassured himself. _Not long_.

The next morning, Darius gave Therion a third of what the sack of leaves contained, apologising that he couldn't get more for the diamond since they needed rid of it quick if they didn't want the Ciannos to catch them. Then he suggested they go back to their base, it was dangerous to stay in this town for too long.

The next day, back on the cliff, it didn't take too much to coax Therion to the edge. He'd always loved looking out over the barren land beneath them after all.

"Where next, partner?" Therion asked with his back to Darius. It was almost as though he was begging to be stabbed.

Yet something about the way he called him partner made him soft. With great hesitation as he pulled out his sword, Darius brought it down. Knocking him onto his knees and spinning him around to face him.

He pulled a lie about the Ciannos wanting him in their ranks out of the air and followed it up by yelling at him again. It was nothing he hadn't heard him shout while drunk, but here he was sober, and telling him exactly what he thought of the no good thief. And that anger made him more determined, determined to be rid of this scum that had followed him around since they were still boys.

So he stabbed him off the cliff. So he watched him fall, laughing the whole time.

And it felt _good_.

It was only a shame the Ciannos called him by Therion's name. He suspected there were still a good few months to go before he got rid of Therion for good.

Yet, it seemed he wouldn't have to wait those months. For on the second day of his employ with the Ciannos, the boss came to him asking if he'd seen the golden stone during his and his partner's theft. A simple no and follow up question about what it was gave him all the answers he needed. It seemed as though Therion wasn't the only trusting thief out there.

For he told him everything. About the dragonstones and the gate they opened. He told him about the power hidden within. He told him all but the location and source of the power, but it was enough for Darius to know how to start. It was enough information for him to leave the Ciannos that night.

So, while he inspected the boats as instructed for any left over explosive residue that Therion had left behind, he laid some more. Enough to take them all down.

It was only a shame a young thief happened to walk in on him while he was doing it.

Ready to kill the hooded thief where he stood, Darius held back when the lad called him by his actual name, swearing himself to him since the Ciannos barely know he existed. Gareth agreed to help take them down with him, not questioning him, not offering alternatives. And his rank among the thieves suggested he had less skill than Darius.

A perfect new partner.

That night they set their employers on fire and stole their gold, watching as they drowned quite callously. Then they set off north, tales of the village of Northreach being without a noble enough to draw Darius to it as his new home.

Without much difficulty, he and Gareth managed to gather all the thieves in the village into the long abandoned church and offered them a proposition. If they swore alliance to 'Lord' Darius, he would protect them and make this broken village theirs for the stealing.

And so it came to pass that Darius gained lordship over Northreach. Lowly thieves came from far and wide to settle into the village, stealing all in Darius' name as the locals came to fear him.

For five years he sat on his throne without worry, researching the dragonstones and the Gate of Finis they opened. Finally, tales of the emerald stone being sold at the Wellspring auction made their way north and Darius departed with a few of his thieves and Gareth who seemed to think of himself as Darius' right hand man.

Granted, Darius liked him more than Therion, but he didn't care for him. He didn't weep for him when he found out Therion had killed him. In fact, he was grateful to Therion for once. The hooded thief had started to become a chummy nuisance.

Not grateful enough to not put unflattering wanted posters of him all over his town, he'd never be _that_ grateful.

Therion was still his enemy after all. And he'd looked pitiful in Wellspring.

He hadn't even had it in him to kill him when he threatened him and all his friends. Instead, he'd beaten him just enough to show that he could kill him. He beat him enough to scare him into running and leaving the stones behind.

The stones didn't matter, he would rebuild. He still had power, he could gain more. His men were loyal to him after all, there was nothing to worry about.

He could rebuild. He could reign in another town.

He didn't need his partner. He wasn't jealous.

Yet, as his men came to kill him and steal his goods, it was Therion he thought of last. The laughs they'd shared, the good times that hadn't been entirely faked.

It was Therion he called out to with his last breath.


	63. The One the Flame Forgot

_Thank you so much for 50 follows! That's insane and I truly can't believe so many people are still reading this week on week! Thank you so much again and I hope you enjoy today's story!_

* * *

 _Following one God is much the same as following another when one only believes in miracles made by their own hand._

* * *

The One the Flame Forgot

Over a century ago, in a Frostland village not far from where Stillsnow now stands, a young man named Matthew spent his every waking moment in prayer.

Before his every meal, he thanked the Gods for allowing him to eat; at every sermon, he gave a speech so rousing leaf after leaf was given by those who could spare them to those who had none; and with the rising of the moon every night, he thanked the Gods for this life he'd been given. He thanked them for allowing him to spread their blessings across this frigid land and provide a little light to the people during the darkest seasons.

And when the storm season settled in every year, he prayed to the Flame to spare them, to allow them to live on so that they might continue to worship them. However, nearly 115 years ago, when the storm season came to the village once again, it was almost as though the Gods were looking elsewhere.

For it struck them without warning, without mercy. Nearly an entire village was wiped out – children and all – by one stray bolt of lightning catching light in the thatch.

And Matthew was foolish enough to think praying to the Flame would bring them back.

Day in and day out, he would pray, tears falling so desperately down his face as he asked Aelfric why. Why them? What had this peaceful, devout village ever done to deserve this treatment? What sins could the children possibly have committed that warranted their tiny bones being turned to ash?

What had he done that allowed his life to be spared? What had he done to deserve this burden that his life had become? The cries of the children echoed endlessly through his head, the taste of their ash lingered on his lips as he'd run out into the flames to save them; the nightmares that haunted him after every night time prayer telling him that, if he'd just been a little more devout, he could have saved them. He could have saved everyone.

He deserved to be a saviour.

So why was it that, now that he needed it most, his faith was starting to waver? Why did it feel futile to rebuild the houses, to remove the rubble in search of survivors when he knew there were none? Why did he still ask for leaves for the church when it was oh so clear the people needed them for themselves, to rebuild their lives which had been so quickly and callously torn away from them?

Yes, he was already having doubts about his faith when those two arrived. That prim gentleman and the scheming woman on his arm.

"Pardon me, kind sir?" The man approached him in the street as Matthew straightened out the foundation of the new house he was building. Looking up from his work, Matthew took in the pair at a glance and was immediately swept up in the power they exuded. They were quite unlike anyone he'd met before and clearly cared not for the Flame, they marched to the beat of a much different drum. "We're looking for a priest."

"Then I suggest you try the church at the end of the street," Matthew responded, pointing to one of the few still standing buildings at the other end of the village. "However, they do not often perform same day wedding ceremonies."

The woman laughed, a dainty laugh that quite contradicted her grand appearance. However, Matthew rather suspected the laugh she gave him just then wasn't her real laugh, for there were undertones of something quite a lot darker beneath that chuckle.

Besides her, the man also let out a slight laugh, a laugh that hid nothing and was quite as dark as he himself. "No, we're looking for a specific priest – one we think is up to the task of performing a very special ceremony."

"Well, as I just said-"

"No." The man snapped quite suddenly, a flash behind his eye that caught Matthew off guard and sent a shiver up his spine the likes of which he'd never felt before. Clearing his throat, he smoothed his waistcoat out and smiled professionally at the man knelt in the snowy mud before him. "We're looking for his Excellency, Brother Matthew."

A second shiver ran up his spine as his name exited the man's lips, forcing him to his feet. "I am he. Though I warrant not the term of Excellency, I'm merely a priest."

"How would you like to be something more?" The woman asked in the most seductive purr he'd ever heard. He was a man of the cloth yet was not unwise to women's charms, but this woman's were quite unlike any he'd ever met before. There was something about her that just called him to her, begged him to come close and hear every honey coated word that came out her pretty little mouth.

"I-I'm afraid you may have the wrong man." It took quite possibly all his strength to say that, to reject the lure of the woman. And he wasn't entirely sure it worked, because he was compelled to explain, to tell her why. "You see, I'm… Well, don't tell my superiors, but I am perhaps looking into a change of professions. Carpentry, for instance. I was always rather good with my hands."

"Why do you want to leave the Flame?" She asked, not persistent nor pressing, but seemingly genuinely curious. Yet, there was something about the way she held herself, the way she looked at him that told Matthew she was leading this conversation by its nose.

There was something in her tone that made him honest as he fell back to his knees, tears instantly falling from his eyes as he told her of his wavering faith, his desire to perform miracles, his desire for enough power that he could change fate and save the lives of those who truly deserved to live. He told her that he didn't believe in Aelfric any more, nor any of the other Gods, for a group of twelve benevolent Gods would not let this kind of atrocity befall their children.

At the end of his tearful tale, the man offered him his handkerchief as the woman offered him something much more enticing: "How would you like the power of the Gods? The power to control life and death, the power to save those you think are worthy of saving?"

"Such power is not possible." Matthew shook his head as he once again rose to his feet and offered the handkerchief back to the man.

There was a dark fire behind the woman's eye as she asked a question no priest – in doubt of his faith or not – would be able to refuse. "Would you like to see your God yourself?"

And so, before even getting their names, Matthew left his tiny village for the first time in his life and travelled to the other side of the world to meet 'God'. During their journey, Matthew tried to make conversation with his two new companions only to be met with silence from the woman – who he learnt was called Lyblac – and pleasantries that never quite answered his questions from the man – known as Simeon.

Occasionally, a dark smile would break Lyblac's distant but beautiful face, a smile that never quite sat right with Matthew. Occasionally, a frown would land on Simeon's constant smile and he'd snap. It was never much, but it was always enough to make Matthew doubt the path he trod.

Eventually, the trio arrived in the Highlands. Lead by Lyblac to a place not even Simeon knew of, they found themselves in front of a pair of ornate gates. As tall as the cliff side they were set in, they exuded a certain reverence that Matthew had previously felt when he looked upon the sacred Flame. But, this reverence didn't feel him with warmth and light, it touched him like a silent, cold hand, chilling him to his very bones.

Filling him with dark, impure urges. Raising the hairs on his very coat as he drank in the power that seeped through the crack.

"And this is only a fraction of His true power." Lyblac purred into the two men's ears as Matthew realised Simeon was as drunk on the power as he was.

"How?" Simeon asked, breaking his reverential silence as he turned to Lyblac, his eyes wide with excitement and a desire for power, for domination. "How can I obtain this power?"

"Swear yourselves to Him." She said quite simply, a dry smile twisting her lips that dared not touch her scheming eyes. "Swear yourself to Him, and if you survive His test, you will be granted a fraction of His power."

"I know not who this God is!" Simeon exclaimed as Matthew started to realise just what monster resided behind those gates. As Matthew got on one knee and revoked the oath he'd sworn to Aelfric all those years ago.

"O my Creator who art enslaved," Matthew called to the gates as he fell to the floor, his head bowed as he prayed for this power, this power he'd use to save them. To save this entire world. "Upon my name, Matthew of the Frostlands, I give myself unto Thee. I ask Thee to guide me as I do Thy bidding, and spread Thy teachings upon this unholy land."

With his head bowed, he didn't see the look in Lyblac's eye, he didn't see the way she raised he chin and smiled down upon him, the first of her pawns in place to give the land back to her Father.

Instead, he felt only a shiver unlike any other as he raised his head and spoke his name. "O Galdera, guide me!"

Then there was nothing.

No light, no dark. No air, no sound. There was only a pressure unlike any other as the God melded His mind with Matthew's and gave him but a fraction of His weakened power, a desire to search out more in His name, to covert the land to His way of teaching. He told Matthew – in no spoken words - to be the saviour the land so sorely needed.

And then he was back, gasping for air on the floor as the world around him lit up again. Only now he saw more than just the cliff sides and the gate to where his Master lay in chains. He saw the injustice of the other Gods, the pain They'd inflicted on the people without reason as They toyed with Their creations as children did with dolls in a house.

He saw the light. And it was fantastically dark.

Lyblac held a hand outstretched for both the men on the floor before her, pulling them to their feet as she blessed them in her Father's name and granted them 100 years free of ageing so they might have the time to scheme and bring their plans together as she searched out the soul she needed to open the gates.

As she left the two men, they turned to each other and made a pledge. With a shake of their hands, they made a promise to stand together to change the world in their new Master's image. They would create the Obsidians. Simeon would take control of every corner of the continent, he would put business men and nobles alike in his pocket for a pretty penny and kill any and all who started to catch on to the truth of this organisation. Matthew would make his way through the church, sowing seeds of doubt as he walked through the halls performing minor miracles.

Of course, he couldn't do it in the Frostlands. His face was too well known, his name already well circulated through the churches of the realm. However, Lyblac had blessed him with the gift of time. Soon, people who knew him would start to die – through old age or accident, who could tell? - and he'd be free to start over not as a priest, but a merchant.

Mattias the merchant. He rather liked the sound of that.

Though miles apart, Simeon and Mattias kept in rather close contact, informing each other of their plans and progress while keeping just enough secret from one another so that they never truly trusted one another. They were both after one thing after all: Power. And Mattias was determined to gain it before Simeon.

For he knew Simeon would use it only to further his control and leadership over the land. Mattias had other plans.

Because, at the very root of his heart, he wanted to be a saviour. To be the one to open the public's eye to the fact that the Flame would only lead them astray. That the only person people could rely on in these trying times was him – their saviour and disciple of their God.

In his search for the power that would make him the saviour of many, Mattias found himself in the town of Wispermill suffering from the same fate that his own had nearly 100 years later. Here, he was able to perform the miracles for them that he wished he'd been able to perform for his village. And in saving them, in becoming their saviour, he found himself a base of operations much like Simeon had found in Everhold.

Yet there was something Wispermill hid that would make him even stronger than Simeon and the Obsidians he commanded. For he had access to a dark alter, an alter that – if used correctly – could turn the sacred Flame black and give his God even more power.

Could give him even more power.

It was a fool proof plan, a plan that would allow him to awaken all the people. Would allow him to become everyone's saviour.

And all it required was waiting 15 more years until the next Kindling. 15 years to plan how he was going to do it, how he was going to make himself an invaluable asset to the church as he corrupted it's daughter and took her down his dark and twisted path to the greater God.

He could have had it all if only he'd accounted for the orphan. For that damned, kind spirit incapable of seeing the greater God even if He hit her over the head with His sceptre.

That holy woman who'd beat him into a senseless, bloody pulp and left him to die as she stole her sister and Ember back.

The woman who'd stolen his light.

What he wouldn't have given to have just a glimpse of the light again, of anything but endless, soul crushing darkness that held him suspended. What he wouldn't have given to have never met that witch a century ago.


	64. Atop the Roost

_Travel On is officially 1 year old!_

 _I never expected to still be writing this a year down the line and I certainly never expected people to still be reading it for this long either! So, thank you!_

 _To everyone who has read, reviewed, followed or favourited, I thank you deeply. Here's to many stories more!_

* * *

 _A power crazed sadist has only one desire: to see the most perfect, painful tragedy performed before their very eyes._

* * *

Atop the Roost

Over 126 years ago, the Ventus dynasty ruled the southern Highlands. Their seat of power was in the old castle of Everhold – which no longer stands, having been turned into an amphitheatre over a century ago – and much like every royal and noble family of the time and all times since, there was always turmoil and schemes in the works as the siblings squabbled over who would gain the throne next.

The youngest son was always the instigator of the fights, yet he had no desire to claim the throne himself. No, he only liked to stir the pot to see what would happen next. Would his brother fall first, or perhaps his father? Or would it be his mother who went missing, held hostage for an outrageous ransom with a finger sent back every day that ransom wasn't paid?

For Simeon, the possibilities were endless. His family was oh so easy to manipulate, to set against one another; he almost never had to get his hands dirty. No, he could simply sit back on his heels and watch as his family's world crumbled. And he would be there every step of the way, writing it all down, plotting a play so tragic it would bring even the most hardened man to tears.

Though the only legitimate heir to the Ventus throne, Simeon was often completely ignored. Not only because he was young, but because he chose not to stand out. The minute his family started to remember he was there was the minute he forfeit his life to his older, bastard brother. And, as quick with his dagger as he was, he was no match for a man ten years his senior in combat.

Still, when the civil war came – definitely not Simeon's fault, he hadn't meant for his other brother to drink his test poison – Simeon was forced to fight. After all, it was his life or his bastard brother's, and he certainly liked his life more.

But he didn't want to spend it on some throne in a remote corner of the Highlands. There was so much more to the world, so much more for him to see and experience. So much more drama to watch unfold, to have a hand in when things started to go just a little too well.

If he'd learnt anything in his 15 years, it was that the world was only made for pain. It was made to test people beyond all reason, to bend them nearly to the point of breaking as it reminded them there was nothing for them here. There was only inescapable darkness. Inescapable pain.

Which is what Simeon brought his brother when they finally fought, though it wasn't all that much of a fight. For, one day, Simeon made his brother put their differences aside so that they could bury their father. Together, the two made their way to the family crypt where Simeon would hatch the last of his plans and be rid of his damned family once and for all.

It was almost too easy to get his brother to look into the grave he'd dug for his father. It was almost to easy to twist his family's knife into his back and kick him in. It was almost too easy to push the head stone back over the grave, burying his dying brother and his last tie to the Ventus Dynasty once and for all.

How amazing it felt! Not to be free from his royal chains, no, to kill his brother.

For the first time in his young life he finally felt _alive_. For over a century he would try to replicate that feeling, that feeling not of power, but of watching someone else lose everything they'd ever wanted. That indescribable feeling of pure, unadulterated joy as Simeon watched someone give up all hope.

It was a rush like no other, a high most would never feel. And he had no idea how to replicate it.

Not that he didn't try. For 11 years he travelled Orsterra, a different name to his face in each town he fell into, as he tore families and lovers apart with simple words, callous cuts from his blades or dashes of just the wrong spices on just the right dishes. But still, he'd yet to find watch someone lose all hope as his brother had. He'd yet to feel as alive as he did then once again.

Then one day, a woman flitted into a Woodland village the day after he had. And in so small a village, two travellers arriving within a day of one another was the talk of every household. Especially when those two were dressed so noble, with a distrusting air about them as they smiled and offered more leaves for their goods than most village merchants would see in a lifetime.

Of course he couldn't help but be drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, the bees to the nectar of the most flagrant blooms… Because he saw that look in her eye, he saw the way she held herself, the way she held her knife. She was quite like him, drawn to the downfall of man, the pain of the world. Fated and determined to cause even more.

"Pardon me." Perhaps it was that look in her eye that made Simeon approach, or perhaps it was just that he was keen to learn who she was. Maybe he just wanted to ask her if she'd ever felt that rush as she watched a person lose all hope and give up. Whatever it was that made him approach, he certainly wasn't prepared for the question that came immediately, purposely from her lips as she turned to face him.

"Would you like to see it?"

"I... I beg your pardon?" Simeon stuttered for what might have been the first time in his life. He wasn't the sort of person to stutter, not at all, but that certainly wouldn't be the last time the woman before him made stumble over his words in a fluster. Yet still, he couldn't look away from her gaze, not now that it was upon him.

There was something behind those eyes, something similar to his own. Dark ambitions hidden deep beneath a carefully crafted elegant appearance… Whatever this woman desired, she would get. No matter who got in her way, no matter who she had to use.

And Simeon rather suspected he was her next pawn.

"There's a town, not far east of here, that is suffering immensely." She said, a smile on her face that contradicted greatly with her words. "A stray bolt of lightning caused a wildfire and, well… Would you like to come see it with me?"

"I..." Any other day, with any other person, Simeon would have laughed the encounter off and carried on about his new town or village. But the woman before him wasn't the sort of woman who could be laughed off, there was too much to her. What she asked was posed as a question, yet she already knew the answer. No one could refuse her. Not when she offered them that which they truly desired. "When do we leave?"

All at once a great smile creased the woman's face. He'd not even gained her name, he had not on reason to believe that she wasn't just luring him out of the village to kill him. Yet he followed her anyway. He followed as she lead them immediately out of the village and onto the path to the Frostlands. He followed as she lead the way into the snow.

And he stopped with her as he realised what was falling in the air was not a Frostland blizzard, but rather a flurry of ash twisted up in a bitter snow shower.

"How would you like to see more of this?" She asked him in just the most seductive purr, leaning into him and looking deep into his fascinated eyes. Taking in the emotions that ran so rampant on his face as he realised just how many lives had been lost, how many more had been affected and left broken, spiritless after losing their loved ones.

"What is your name?" Simeon asked in response, swallowing deeply as he stared out into the ash, watching the remnants of the fire. Oh how he wanted to say yes, there and then. How he wanted nothing more than to see all the pain the world had to offer, to be the one inflicting it if time and circumstances allowed. But he had to know more, he had to know who this woman was, how she could offer him that which he truly, deeply desired.

"You may call me Lyblac. Now come." She took him by the arm, leading him to the suffering village – making up his mind on the matter for him. "There is someone you must meet."

"Who?"

"Your business partner."

Before he even had time to truly register the gravity of the situation, Simeon met Matthew the priest and listened to Lyblac offer him that which he truly desired. Before he had time to really grasp the reality of the situation, the three of them were travelling back to his former homeland, back to the land where a God of the most unholy power hid, just waiting to be released.

Oh to feel the power that came from his tomb! Creeping out from the thinnest sliver of a gap between the gates Simeon felt it. A tingle of such immense power that coursed up and down his spine like electricity, pulling his every hair on his body onto its end as he closed his eyes. It was dark, a dangerous power that would cause only destruction and death.

And Simeon wanted it.

As he watched Matthew fall onto his knees in prayer besides him, Simeon himself began to pray to that which he believed in. Not the God behind the gate, not the woman who was using them only as pawns in her own pursuit of power. No, he prayed to death, to destruction, to tragedy.

"By the light of the most unholy sun, I ask that those who seek the light be forced into its heat and burned for daring to get to close. By the depths of the most unholy sea, I ask that those who seek water be dragged deep to its depths and drowned for asking for something so simple. By the unfathomable power of my God, I ask that You might allow me but a fraction of that that You covet, so that I might do the most unholy deeds and provide the most fitting sacrifices as I work to free You from Your tomb.

"Galdera, I wish to see that which comes to pass under Your reign!"

And then there was nothing. No light, no dark, no air above him and certainly none beneath. In an endless void Simeon floated, wondering if perhaps he'd asked too much. Then his eyes opened, a light in them burning most unholy as a power quite unlike any other rose up from within him.

He saw the light of the world anew. And it was wonderfully dark.

"With Galdera as my witness," Lyblac said as he pulled the two men before her back onto their feet. "I grant thee a century of agelessness. Do your plotting well gentlemen, see your schemes to their fruition. But keep me not waiting."

And so Lyblac left them, disappearing deep into the mountains once again. It was up to them now, and Simeon wasn't going to let a useful ally like Matthew get away without securing him as a partner.

"I suggest we make a promise." Simeon proposed, recovered quite before the priest had – he'd never been one for religion after all.

"A promise?" Matthew asked, looking over at Simeon in confusion.

"A pledge, oath, what have you," Simeon shook his hand dismissively. "We recreate the world."

"In Galdera's image?"

"Sure." Simeon shrugged. _Whatever gets you on board_. "We recreate the world in Galdera's image. You convert the church, I'll convert the masses, the nobles and business men alike. Together, we can usher in a new age. An age in which the only reason a person suffers is because they have displeased us."

"If we are to go into partnership and create an order to bring about this age of change, we'll need a name."

"Very well." Simeon smirked and held out his hand to Matthew. "We shall be the leaders of the Obsidians. I, a noble playwright and assassin, Master Simeon and you, a known apostate and travelling merchant, Mattias."

"I presume it will be a pleasure doing business with you, Simeon." The newly named Mattias smiled.

"Oh it will, Mattias. It will."

Their pledge was nothing but a show of faith, a promise to not get in one another's way. For they had both felt Galdera's power. And they both wanted it all to themselves.

With his new power, Simeon returned to his home town of Everhold and tore it to the ground. No one was spared, no one allowed to speak. As soon as he arrived, he silenced them with but a gesture and spoke upon them in words most violent, most unholy. He told them of his plans for the world, the largest stage upon which to perform the most perfect, satisfying tragedy. For what could satisfy him more than watching the downfall of man, their descent into madness? If such a play could not bring him the joy, the high that had come with killing his brother all those years ago, could anything?

For a long time, Simeon did wonder.

He built his own amphitheatre where his castle had once stood, he put his money to every lord and land owner across Orsterra and killed any who got in his way, who opposed him of his Obsidians. Occasionally, he even lent his money and assassins to Mattias as he had promised before the Gates. Still, nothing quite felt right.

At first, he thought it was because he was too detached from the tragedies he was causing. So he started to take a hand in them. Every few years, he'd brand a handful of his best, most influential lords and assassins with the mark of crow he wore with pride at his neck. Every few years, he'd fly the nest with his newest murder and they'd hunt together, they'd break a part of the world together. Still, it didn't bring him joy.

So he took to the stage, as both a player and writer. He performed in tragedies so bitter, so twisted that even the most hardened king and warrior had a hard time holding back tears. He wrote plays so perfectly crafted that no one could predict even the most tragic twists. And still, there was no joy.

Finally, he decided that the reason for his lack of joy in other's pain was because of his longevity. In pledging himself to Galdera, he'd lost that which made him human – the thought that at any minute his life could be over. No one dared oppose him and old age wasn't exactly going to take him thanks to his longevity curse. No, there was no risk to his life in anything he did.

So he started to travel.

Nearly a century after he'd killed his brother, he started to lose hope of ever feeling that pure euphoria again. In fact, he was starting to forget what it felt like. It had been so long ago after all, was he sure he wasn't just imagining it?

It was in those dark days that Simeon got word of a Flatland noble sniffing about the Obsidian's business just a little too intently. Without much thought, Simeon simply wondered into the town, ordering his left and right wings to stand down as he dealt with the threat himself.

And upon arriving in Noblecourt, Simeon met a young girl.

She was small, no more than perhaps ten when he first arrived, and so full of joy, full of life. She danced for the fun of it, she fought to impress her father and carry out her duty to her noble line. She was a bundle of light in such a dark world.

And Simeon was immediately drawn to her. Like a moth to a flame, like the bees to the nectar. Like a lion to a mouse.

He could see her potential.

And he was hooked.

Immediately he entered into the employ of the man he'd come into town to kill. Immediately, he set to work weaving a tale so perfectly tragic that he could savour every moment of it by the girl's side. Her potential as the most beautiful, fulfilling tragedy he ever told had him in love. With the story or the girl, he did not yet know. However, he _did_ know that his love, his constant admiring presence would be enough to get the girl to love him too.

And oh how delicious it would be to betray her love!

Often, he had to hold himself back so that he wouldn't get too eager. Simeon wanted to savour this, he wanted it to last as long as it could without stagnating. This was his opus, it needed to be perfect.

Not that that stopped him throwing spanners into the works of his own schemes. What was a tale without a few twists that not even the writer could predict, after all? Not that that stopped him from basking in the joy of the girl's naivety. She had no idea what was going to happen, what path this gardener was sending her down.

No, she only saw three men with the mark of the crow kill her father as a teenager. She only saw her beloved as a shoulder to cry on as she plotted her revenge aloud, and he plotted his tragedy in secret.

Primrose didn't see him and his spies watching her every step over the years, her descent into the least noble pursuits as she searched for her father's killers, her revenge. Over time, she almost seemed to twist her memories of her father until she convinced herself that he would have wanted her to do this for him, that he would want her to live for him rather than herself.

Simeon didn't listen as his spies and killers asked why he was so focused on this one woman. Instead, he only pointed out that they had their own tasks in the works – the tasks of keeping an eye on Mattias and the next Flamebearer, of searching out the Crossford diary and keeping an eye on Werner and those scholars in Atlasdam for Lyblac. He told them his plans were of no concern of theirs.

Yet still he knew not how this tragedy would end. Would she kill herself in the sunlands? Or would she perhaps fall upon his first wing and die to him?

Nothing could have prepared him for the death of her dear friend as she left the sunlands. But oh the joy it brought him! He'd almost forgotten the high, the rush that flowed through his veins as he saw that pain, that unadulterated pain cross the face of one who had already lost so much. It was perfect, just _perfect_.

But he wanted more.

So he told his wing in the Frostlands to go easy on her, to direct her back home. Would she suspect he was waiting for her? Would she even return, or would she perhaps call it quits, too scared to return to the town she'd once called home?

The possibilities were endless, keeping Simeon quite firmly on his toes as he waited with baited breath for Primrose's return.

What brought him to stabbing her after she killed his second wing, he didn't quite know. But he knew it was perfect, the look on her face in that moment was just _fantastic._ Whether she lived or died, he cared not in that moment. For that moment was enough.

Once again, that feeling took root in his heart. Euphoria coated his every fibre, laughs echoed endlessly as an honest smile once again returned to his face. He was at peace, he was alive.

But who knew for how much longer? Perhaps Primrose would die, but the most perfect curtain call needed to be in place if she wasn't. An ending most spectacular needed to be waiting for her in Everhold, and what ending was more prefect that watching her whole life performed before her very eyes?

Still, she fought back with more determination that he'd expected. He very nearly lost her before he saw her cry.

And still, tears and all, she fought on. She fought to kill the man she desperately believed no longer had a place in her heart. But he cared not. No, he knew his death was perfect. At long last, someone had come along to end his tale.

How fitting it was that he go out not with a bang, but a poem.


	65. Hornburg's Left Hand

_It can take a long time for some to find out where they truly belong in the world._

* * *

Hornburg's Left Hand

The Highlands aren't the most forgiving lands to grow up in at the best of times, but living on the Highland/Sunland boarder is particularly tough. And losing what little one owns when one's tiny town is burned to the ground for little more than the fun of it makes growing up even harder. What little chance Erhardt had of a normal life was lost with his family when Grynd fell. What little hopes he'd nurtured of being the King's squire were lost to thoughts of anger and revenge.

Where had King Alfred been when Grynd had been burning? Why hadn't he come to their aid? Why had he still not paid even the most cursory of calls to the charred remains of the former town?

He had some nerve calling himself a great King. He didn't deserve the praise of the people, the taxes from Hornburg's general populous. No, he deserved nothing more than to suffer the same fate as the people of Grynd, the people he'd ignored.

Those that had survived had started taking to the streets of Hornburg, begging for change or a spare meal so that they might survive just one more night before having to do it all over again. Some life it was when even the King wouldn't spare them change, would spit upon them and tell them to find work.

Erhardt could have tried his hand at many jobs in the city, he was sure. Strong young lad that he was, any and all prospective employers would pick him up in a heartbeat and claim far more money back on his labour than he'd ever see.

So perhaps that was why he chose not to leave the worn remains of Grynd. Perhaps that was why he chose to remain, wandering the streets and killing the local monsters for food and clothes. Not much of a life, he supposed, but he certainly wasn't going to go begging for food at the King's feet.

And when the band of sellswords galloped in to the town's remains a month after it was lost, he was grateful to them. Not because they gave him a second chance at life, a chance to wield a blade and protect others from the same fate he'd suffered, but because of what their leader said to him.

Crouching besides the battered, bruised and otherwise bedraggled Erhardt, the regal appearing man offered him something more valuable than all the riches in the world: "How would you like to get revenge on your pathetic King?"

Before he'd even really thought through what he was doing, Erhardt found himself a messenger for the Black Brotherhood. Day in and day out, he'd run all over Hornburg delivering messages to this official or the other, collecting payment from this noble or the other for the Brotherhood's valiant deeds. Night in and night out, he'd train by the regal man's – Werner's - side, learning the ways of the sword from the one he assumed to be the best swordsman in the realm. Learning of the plots to bring the very Kingdom to its knees with Erhardt's skill.

Looking back, he can now clearly see how he was played like a damned fiddle, manipulated with falsities and half truths until he was Werner's perfect pawn. At the time, he only had one thought in his mind:

Make King Alfred pay for the tragedy that had befallen his town, his people.

And on his 20th birthday, Werner gave him perhaps the best gift of all: the chance at knighthood. Through a few well placed bribes and one particularly well placed concoction at the King's most recent feast, it appeared that his Majesty was suddenly short a knight.

And Erhardt was the perfect choice.

Young, dedicated and perhaps the best swordsman in the entire Brotherhood, second only to Werner, Erhardt was selected unanimously and sent off to Hornburg's capital to serve as a knight of the realm. Perhaps seeing the look in his eye as he said his goodbyes, Werner was sure to see Erhardt off himself.

Though they'd not seen each other all that much in recent years – Werner was very much a behind-the-scenes sort of leader – Erhardt still respected the man immensely and certainly owed him a great deal. In a way, he was almost like a father figure, an absentee, harsh one at times but a figure of constant paternal authority in Erhardt's life all the same. So he thought nothing of the man coming to him and saying his goodbyes.

"Come to wish me well in my revenge, have you, Werner?" Erhardt asked jovially, a smile easy on his lips now that he could see his goal within reach.

There was no smile on Werner's face however. No, he was frowning, worry clear on his features. "I have come to ask you not to act rashly, boy."

"I will stick to your plan," Erhardt agreed, his smile lost as he meekly bowed his head. Werner certainly knew how to take all the fun out of a situation. "But if the opportunity comes up to-"

"You will stick to the plan." Werner repeated, taking a rare moment to look Erhardt in the eye. "You will get your chance."

"As you wish." Erhardt muttered, his head still bowed to the man before him. Plans and plots ran rampant in his mind, revenge was so close to his grasp… And Werner held it tantalising out of his grip, making him promise not to act until he got the signal from Gustav and the rest of the men. Of course he understood the strategy of the situation – it would be awfully foolish to take on an entire Kingdom's worth of knights without back up, after all – but what if he got it right? What if he got his revenge without Werner's help?

What then? Would he lead the Brotherhood? Would he lead the knights?

"Chin up, lad." Werner said, forcing Erhardt's chin up and thoughts to quiet as he looked him square in the eye. "Show those knights who's the best swordsman in Orsterra."

Filled with pride in his skills and assurance in his surely unparalleled abilities, Erhardt strode into the barracks the first morning of his knighthood without a care in the world. His time would come, the King would fall. After all, none of these knights were any match for him.

"Fresh face." He heard one of the knights remark in a surely stage whisper as he claimed the spare bunk by the door.

"Young one too." He supposed he probably did look rather young to these men, they were probably all at least five years his senior.

"They say he was a mercenary." Werner hadn't told him knights were worse gossips than noble women.

"Oh, aye?" One particularly burly man laughed slightly too loud. "Looks more like a princeling if ye ask me!"

Perhaps Erhardt was a little too quick to draw his sword – his hair was kept rather neatly at the nape of his neck and he was wearing clothes worth more gold than the knights would ever get paid, after all – but he had to put a stop to this gossip if he was ever to stand a chance in the barracks. Holding the tip of his blade to the man's throat as he looked down it at him, Erhardt rather politely asked, "Would a princeling be able to hold a man like you at the end of his blade?"

"Quite easily, I'd wager!" The man laughed, turning to the others in room and inviting them to laugh with him. This… was not what Erhardt had expected as he lowered his sword. The man clapped him on the shoulder. "Listen, son, I'm only th' watchman. I'm no match fer anyone in here."

"Some watchman you are." Erhardt snapped, twisting his sword in his hand as he willed his blush to die, the laughter to stop. Finding no satisfaction in either wish, he pulled himself away from the watchman and pointed his sword into the throng. "I was the best swordsman of my mercenary gang, greater even than our leader. Show me your greatest swordsman and I will prove my worth tenfold!"

The watchman turned to the other knights, exchanging a glance with them before shrugging and pointing out into the yard. "Go on then, meet th' King's right hand."

That title alone was enough to get Erhardt's blood boiling. This was the man he'd have to replace if he wanted to stand a chance at becoming close to the King. This was the man he'd have to best if he wanted to prove himself to everyone here.

It's safe to say he was rather surprised when he came face to face with a man not much older than he dressed in a regal blue tunic. Sure, he was taller, with more meat on his bones and carried a two handed broadsword rather than a light rapier, but he didn't look that much stronger than Erhardt. After all, fighting with a blade is as much about speed as it is strength.

"Hail there!" The man bellowed to him as he sheathed his sword, waving him over to his place across the training yard as he saw Erhardt approach. Cautious, Erhardt began to make his way over to the man in much the same way as a scared stray approached one who offered them food. Just who was this kind man and why was he being so friendly to him? "His Majesty said there was a new knight in our ranks, it's an honour to meet you."

In response to his outstretched hand, Erhardt levelled his sword to the man's chest. "Prove your worth."

"Is there no chance we can get to know each other over drinks first?" The man asked, somehow hesitant to fight the new recruit.

"Prove. Your. Worth." Erhardt said simply, his sword still pointed right at the warrior's heart. He made no move to attack, doing so would be foolish and against the code of knighthood. No, he only stood his ground, staring the other man down.

"So be it." The brunet sighed, unsheathing his mighty sword and standing ready. With weapon like that, Erhardt rather suspected that his movement would be limited, his stamina quick to run down. A few quick feints and jabs would be enough to wear him down to the point where he'd get sloppy. Then he could prove himself, show himself as the mightiest knight in the Highlands, nay, all Orsterra. "But know, I, Olberic the Unbending Blade and Hornburg's right hand, will not go easy on you, my friend."

And so they duelled. And it didn't take long for Erhardt to realise he was outmatched.

For what Olberic lacked in speed and dexterity, he made up for in his fighting style. His heavy blade blocked all but the most carefully placed blows and even those he was able to counter with his arm or leg guards. Not only that, but he fought not like a heavy blade user nor a light blade user, but a mix of the two; one minute he'd have his sword raised high to smash over Erhardt's rapier only to feint to the side and attempt to prod at him with it's flattened point.

He fought unlike any warrior Erhardt had ever met. Unlike the mercenaries he used to travel with, he didn't fight for his life nor for coin. He fought with one goal on his mind, to protect his King from any and all who wished to harm him. From that point of view, Erhardt rather admired him; he was certainly doing a good job of protecting his Majesty from those who wished to assassinate him. But he also hated him.

No one had ever given him a run for his money, the only fighter who had ever made him sweat was Werner. And here he was, panting and running out of stamina, making foolish choices even as Olberic still stood tall and strong.

Although, if he squinted… was that sweat upon his brow? Was that a pant barely escaping his lips? Was he actually struggling to hold his own against Erhardt, or was he just pretending to make the new recruit feel better?

Then Erhardt made a mistake and left himself open. Foolish, Werner would have given him a whipping for making such a grave and stupid error. But Olberic… He saw the opening, he raised his eyebrow at it… and he threw his sword to the side in surrender.

"FIGHT ME!" Erhardt screamed at him, ashamed at himself, frustrated that the knight wouldn't take advantage of it – he certainly would have. His hair had come loose and was a matted tangled mess across his face as he pushed it back, waving his sword wildly – heedless of the fact that all the other knights had gathered to watch them at the edge of the training yard. "TAKE YOUR STRIKE, YOU COWARD!"

"Well trained, certainly able to hold his own against even the toughest of challengers..." Olberic muttered to himself, seeming to ignore the enraged blond before him. "Some of his moves are a too much for show to be useful and he tires too quick..."

"WHY WILL YOU NOT STRIKE THE FINISHING BLOW?!" Erhardt screamed at him, frustrated that he'd lay down his sword just to analyse him.

"He cares too much about being the strongest. When he realises he's losing, he makes mistakes and is all to quick to call that one mistake the end of a battle..." Olberic stopped staring at him and looked up at the balcony over looking the training yard. For the first time, Erhardt realised it was there, that there was someone standing on the balcony watching their fight. "A few short weeks of training with me and I think he will be worthy of the sword you have forged for him and the title you wish to grant him, my liege."

There he was, quite literally looking down on them with a smug smile on his cheerful face. King Alfred himself. All too easily, Erhardt could have grabbed a bow from the edge of the training yard and shot it towards his face – Olberic wouldn't be fast enough to stop him. Instead, against every fibre of his being, Erhardt fell to one knee in a bow. "My liege."

He couldn't see the kind smile on the King's face since his head was bowed to him, but Erhardt could hear it in his voice. "Train him well, Olberic. Make him worthy of being your partner by the time I return next month."

"As you wish, my liege." Olberic agreed, bowing deeply besides Erhardt as the King left the balcony and returned to his castle. Almost in unison, the two knights stood tall once again and turned to face one another. Olberic's cheerful smile met Erhardt's scowl as he asked, "Care for a drink?"

"Why did you refuse to strike me?" Erhardt asked, curious, frustrated and embarrassed all at once as he sheathed his blade. "Victory was within your grasp and you laid down your arms rather than claim what was rightfully yours. Why?"

"What's your name, friend?" Olberic asked, returning his own blade to his belt as they started to make their way back to the barracks.

Werner had prepared him for this, had given him a fake name to call himself by as he wandered the halls of the knights. Instead, he gave the knight before him his own, he'd bested him in battle, he owed him this much honesty. "Erhardt."

"Why do you swing your blade, Master Erhardt?" Olberic asked.

"I… To protect our liege." Erhardt answered, shaking his head at so obvious a question.

"Not why will you, but why did you?" Olberic chuckled. "Once you can answer that question – and you need not answer it aloud – you can start training as a knight in earnest. Until then, come spar with me daily. I believe I could learn a thing or two from you, and I believe you certainly could from me."

Erhardt walked in step with the knight – apparently the mightiest knight in all of Hornburg – as they returned to their bunks, silent as he thought. This man was not much older than he, yet wise beyond his years, honest and loyal where Erhardt was competitive and foolhardy. What could he possibly have to learn from him?

Clearing his throat as they turned their backs to one another and changed into lighter clothes, Erhardt quietly asked, "Where is the tavern?"

With a mighty laugh as he lead the way, Olberic sealed their partnership there and then. As far as he was concerned, they were partners, warriors who would fight side by side and learn along side one another as they protected each other's backs and their sworn liege. Over the next month, Erhardt got to learn a lot about Olberic. Though he knew not the knight's past, he knew he fought with all his heart and was eternally grateful to his King. He knew he was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield and a fool to be played with in the tavern.

He was, in all regards, the archetypal knight both on and off the battle field. At times it seemed as though he fought only for the trill of fighting, the buzz that it brought to his blood; at others it was all too clear that he'd lay down his life for his liege, would protect him from even the greatest threat.

Against every odd, Erhardt actually came to care for the knight, came to trust him. And even after he bested him again a month later before the king, he clasped his hand and called him partner. He swore to be the King's second blade, his left hand to Olberic's right.

And so they became partners and eventually legends. The Twin Blades of Hornburg.

Werner was rather impressed with how quick he gained the King's and knight's trusts. Yet, somehow, each time he came to see Werner and the Brotherhood again felt more empty than the last. Yet, somehow, his desire for revenge was starting to become almost secondary to his desire to spend time with Olberic and the other knights. Somehow, he'd come to care for them, to call them brothers as he had those he'd fought with in the Brotherhood.

It was a most curious thing.

Alongside Olberic, he'd grown as a warrior. He no longer over thought his every move, he no longer fretted when he made the tiniest mistake because – in the heat of the battle – not everyone was going to notice that mistake, not everyone was going to be quick enough to act on it. He had become a better man, a better fighter.

And still, some part of him wanted revenge. Some part of him wanted to watch Hornburg fall.

For seven years he bided his time, stopping by the Brotherhood when he could to spend time with his former comrades-in-arms when his current became just too chatty to handle – mercenaries were far quieter than knights. For seven years, he pulled the wool over the knights eyes and was their perfect leader, Alfred's perfect protector.

For seven years, he called Olberic partner.

Until, finally, the coup came.

He led his men into battle and cared not as he watched former friends perish beneath his blade. He fought only for Grynd, for his lost family and friends. He fought to make the others feel that pain which he had felt, that lingering emptiness within his heart.

He fought to make it right, to make things even.

But he hadn't meant to kill Alfred in front of Olberic. He hadn't meant to make him watch. Because fighting on opposite sides to him did feel wrong. But watching him leave himself open to attack, watching him be vulnerable in battle for the first time since they'd met… That felt right.

Besting him in battle, that felt right.

And then it was over.

The coup was complete, Hornburg was no more. He had no more reason to carry his blade, no more reason to swing it. Werner disbanded the Brotherhood and disappeared to Riverford, taking his riches with him as he laughed at his former employees asking him where they could travel next.

Gaston and Gustav proposed starting their own mercenary gang with Erhardt as their leader, but Erhardt refused. Once again, he felt empty, purposeless. He had no use for the sword at his belt when he had no cause to swing it. So he gifted it to Gaston with his blessing. He told him to travel, to fight for what he believed in.

And then he disappeared.

For eight years, Erhardt wandered. From time to time he'd stop in towns and offer his aid as a travelling sword for a week or two before moving on yet again. He never stayed in one place for all that long, never long enough for his face to be recognised, his clothes figured out.

No, he was always on the move, hunting for that which he had lost: his purpose, his reason for carrying a sword.

Finally, after many years, he found himself once again in the Sunlands. For some reason, he felt like returning to what remained of Grynd, or even Hornburg itself. For some reason, he thought that the answers to his troubles could be found there.

Instead he found a merchant's caravan under fire from a horde of lizardmen. Instead, he found a town in desperate need of his help.

Instead, he found a place to set up home. A place that recognised his name but knew not the worst of his legends. They knew him only as that man who'd saved them from the lizardmen. They knew him only as Erhardt, travelling sword.

And before he knew it he'd found himself a reason to carry his sword: to protect this town that had come to rely on him.

By the time Olberic found him, near a year after he'd arrived in Wellspring, he was almost glad to see him again, to get the weight of all those years off his chest. He was almost glad he'd lost their duel, to see the light return Olberic's eye as he told him of Werner.

For now Olberic had a purpose again, a reason to wield his blade. To stop Werner, to stop him from destroying yet another town and the lives of the people within it.

A most noble cause. Erhardt was almost tempted to go along, for old times sake, but he could hardly leave Wellspring unprotected.

"Go." Captain Bale said simply as he watched Erhardt watch Olberic leave.

"Captain, I cannot-"

"We can handle the stragglers." Bale reassured him, knowing that look in Erhardt's eye as well as anyone. There was a battle out there with his name on it, one final act of revenge just waiting for him. "Go help your partner."

"I will return." Erhardt reassured him even as he ran out of the town, his hand at his blade. But reassurance wasn't needed, Bale knew. Bale knew this was his home now in much the same way Cobbleston had become Olberic's. They were knights, peerless warriors as yet undefeated when they fought side by side.

By they were also simple village protectors, men who wielded their blades for those who could not swing their own, could not protect themselves.

And Erhardt would not have had it any other way.


	66. The One They Call They Witch

The One They Call The Witch

The outside world had always seemed too bright to Lyblac. Though, then again, she was a daughter of darkness, born and raised within it behind the Gate that held her Father imprisoned.

Perhaps that was why she did whatever her Father desired. Perhaps that was why she was so determined to see Him freed. With her Father walking the world, it would turn a little darker, a little less happy. With her Father walking the world, its people would know their pain, the pain of the wrongly imprisoned.

For what was so wrong in wanting power over life and death? What was so wrong in wanting to chose who could live longer than expected or die sooner? Wasn't that what the other Gods did upon their thrones in the mountains anyway?

Admittedly, her sheltered upbringing had left Lyblac a little jaded to the world at large. However, when she finally stepped foot out the Gate and into the world, she knew she only had one goal. One goal that would carry her through all the waiting and searching.

She would free her Father. She would make Him proud of her.

She just needed to figure out how.

Her first obstacle was learning the language and ways of the humans. The tongue of the Gods was not all that different from that of humans, but certainly different enough that the learning curve was steep and immediate. It didn't help that people spoke in different, oft times difficult to understand, accents and dialects in each town she turned to, never once getting used to whether or not she should be using ye, you or thou when approaching someone for directions and guidance.

The fact that she dressed like a noble widow probably didn't help. People seemed to expect a certain amount of propriety from a noble and Lyblac was never quite sure what that was. Did they expect her to speak the dialect of the Gods, or was it simply that they didn't expect her to speak at all?

And why did the men seem intent on flirting with her?

Of course, she was aware of her charms – she was a demi-goddess after all – but she hadn't expected them to be so potent on mortals. Sometimes she needed to do little more than enter a town to have its men suddenly fawning at her heels. What was she to do with them except tell them to buzz off or run the occasional errand?

The fact that they all spoke in those different dialects was actually rather useful to Lyblac. Before too long she was able to understand the variations of the languages all thanks to her fawning fans. Before long, she was able to start asking questions that would lead her to where she could find her answers.

Before long, she could start looking for a way to free her Father.

And so she found her way to the Woodlands, to Duskbarrow. And so she found her way to the underground library, the wall that told all what would occur when her Father was freed.

And so she found her home away from home.

Lyblac knew not who was responsible for building the underground library nor how it had come to be home to almost every valuable tome the humans had ever produced, but she did know one thing: she couldn't waste her every day underground reading them herself. Sure, she had all the time in the world to plot and plan, but it would do her no good to spend all that time hidden away from the world in a library no one knew existed.

No, she needed eyes above ground, people who she could 'trust' to keep her informed and do her bidding while she researched the mechanisms that kept her Father caged and searched out the one who could free Him from His unjust prison.

And it just so happened that she'd heard tell of a sadistic man wandering in to Duskbarrow as the sun had rose yesterday. It just so happened that she'd heard the screams of a town once engulfed in blizzards now engulfed in flames not far away. There was a priest in that town, one who needed someone new to believe in. With the two of them, she'd have one spreading the word of her Father, one spreading money to keep the nobles subdued…

For the first time since she'd left her Father's side, Lyblac smiled. Not a flirty smile, not a shy, 'please help me!' smile, but an honest, dark smile. The beginnings of a plan were starting to take root in her mind, she just needed to see them come to fruition.

Oh how easy they were to manipulate! She'd barely needed to bat an eyelash! But one purr, one well lead question and the men were hers, under her thumb and in her pocket. And soon they'd have all of Orsterra in theirs'.

Well, soon might have been an understatement. She granted them both 100 years free of ageing and they certainly made good use of it. That wasn't much of a problem, mind you, because it took Lyblac the better part of the century to read through her hidden library and finally find the one tome that held her answer.

A Crossford. Four stones. Unlimited access to the Gate in the mountains. That was all she needed to free her Father and she at least knew where to look for two of them.

So she left her library and headed to Hornburg.

Along the way, she stopped by the Clifflands, having read that the stones were being kept far from the Kingdom and safe with a family in the town of Bolderfall. It wasn't exactly hard for her to walk through the richer part of town to the mansion and gain an audience with Lord Ravus. Once again, she barely had to bat an eyelash, a simple well placed smile had her in the house before the butler could even raise his voice. And a simple, well meaning question about the family's wealth had her lead quite easily to the treasure room.

There they were, the Dragonstones.

She could have taken them there and then quite easily. But she wasn't ready, not yet. There was no point leaving a door unlocked for someone else to open and take the credit for, after all. If she was going to do this, she was going to make sure that everything was in place first. She didn't want to disappoint her Father, after all.

So she moved on to the Riverlands, intent on stepping foot in no more towns until she found out what was happening in Hornburg. However, she needed not to step foot in the town on the Riverland/Cliffland border to see the boy, he practically called to her, drawing her to him in much the same way she was used to drawing men to herself.

He was just a boy, one who knew not pain nor sorrow and had no reason to follow her halfway across the world. Not yet at least. But she could see how she could lead him astray. Crossfords might well be immune to her charm, but they're not immune to the lure of their love coming back to life after a sudden, untimely death.

She'd return to the boy in about 16 years. But for the moment, she simply smiled darkly to herself and moved on south.

Only to find Hornburg an impenetrable military fortress. If she wanted any chance to free her Father, she'd have to clear a path. Hornburg would have to fall.

It was almost too easy to find a man who wanted to see Hornburg fall, there were a surprising number of men who desired that after all, but she chose Werner to be their leader for one simple reason: he feared her. When Hornburg fell he wouldn't try to remake the area into his own Kingdom, no, he'd run away. As fast as his legs could carry him, Lyblac suspected. And if he was to force the others who wanted the Kingdom to fall under his employ, by the time Hornburg fell they would be submissive, they wouldn't be able to form a Kingdom.

So she chose Werner, she told him Hornburg would fall, and she gave him the money to make it happen. On her way back to her library, she made sure to stop in Everhold and tell Simeon to keep an eye on Werner for her, to kill him should he start getting to big for his boots and to let her know when that occurred.

After a near century of research and waiting, things were suddenly starting to move ever so quickly.

Having set Werner on his path, Lyblac came out of her library for good and employed a simple scholar from Atlasdam to watch over the library for her, to read its tomes and tell her if she missed anything. Normally she would have gone after Yvon himself rather than using Lucia to earn his place as headmaster, but she saw the look in his eye. If she told him why, he'd take matters into his own hands and she'd lose her chance at getting her hands on _From the Far Reaches of Hell._ So she used Lucia, she told her to have him promoted after Simeon's men dispatched of the former head.

She took the tome, read it in an evening and told Lucia to return it to her library. Then she moved on. She cared not what happened to those two, but having them in positions of power at Atlasdam was certainly useful – not that she ever used them again. No, she moved on, ready to watch as Hornburg fell.

In the interim years, Lyblac saw as much of Orsterra as she could, plotting alongside her Obsidians when she felt like it to make sure they were doing their jobs. Her disappointment when she found out that they'd failed to assassinate Susanna Grotoff was immense, but it was nothing compared to how she reacted when she found out that Simeon had not assassinated Lord Azelhart, but had instead started wooing his young daughter to create 'the perfect tragedy'.

Two years before Hornburg fell, Lyblac told Simeon, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn't kill Lord Azelhart, she would kill them all.

That was incentive enough for him to move his tragedy along as she left town, seething as she returned to the Clifflands, searching for the Crossford again.

As luck would have it, he was living the in the same town as the Dragonstones with his wife and son. Though she suspected she wouldn't need him, she was glad that she waited until after their child was born to start interfering. Should anything go wrong when she used Graham to open the Gate and release her Father, she'd be able to try again with his son.

Still, it was almost too easy to get close to his wife, to give her a malady most uncommon and foul.

It was almost too easy to make Graham putty in her hands.

The only problem now was Werner and the fact that Hornburg still stood. Everything was in place, apart from him and the Kingdom she needed to fall.

As she started to make her way south to the Highlands yet again, Lyblac quite suddenly found herself frequently waylaid. It seemed almost as though every five steps she took one of Simeon's men was at her feet, demanding her attention in an opposite part of the world for some petty drama. After the third time one of the Obsidian assassins appeared at her feet, Lyblac began to fume. She told the assassin, quite politely she thought, that if Simeon or Mattias dared to get in her way again, she would burn them all and they'd be forced to start from scratch in the darkness of the afterlife.

The assassin's answering face and impressively fast though clumsy fleeing in response kept her amused no end as she started to make her way south via the Clifflands once again.

Thankfully, it appeared the assassin delivered the message before she even stepped foot in the Clifflands. By the time she arrived, there was a general panic on the streets of Bolderfall as the rich either lamented the loss of the Kingdom with pretty words and vulturous faces or tried to swindle one another out of money for their goods as they planned to move continents. They were all over reacting, Lyblac knew, however she still took pleasure in their masked worry, their hidden hysteria.

She still took the Dragonstones from the Obsidian assassins, thanking them for their hard work with a peck on the cheek that took them to her Father's side. He needed all the power He could get after all. Soon, He would be free.

Soon.

Or so Lyblac thought as she found Graham on her way through the Riverlands, inviting him to join her. Telling him she could bring back his wife.

Unfortunately, Graham was a lot stronger willed than she'd expected. In spite of everything, all she managed to achieve on her first try opening her Father's prison was unlocking the Gates as Graham became a monster and ran as far from her as his unsightly legs could carry him.

And yet, Lyblac couldn't help but feel envious of him. He'd received some of her Father's power, he'd been transformed thanks to her Father. And what had she gotten after all these years of searching for a way to break Him of His prison? Nothing, a cold shoulder from Him at best.

Disappointed in herself for failing her Father, Lyblac determinedly stepped foot back into Orsterra to search for the Crossford boy. He'd lost both his mother and now his father, there was no way he could ignore her offers to take him back to their side.

There was no way she could fail this time.

Of course, she hadn't accounted for the decade it would take to track down Kit, who could have? She hadn't accounted for the eight travellers who would be brought together from across the continent thanks to her actions.

She hadn't expected them to follow her through the Gate, intent on saving their friend.

She hadn't expected not to care when they stood opposed to her and her Father. But, then again, she hadn't expected her Father to accept her.

Her last thoughts were pure bliss as her Father took her spirit into His own, made her power His.

Finally, she was where she belonged.


	67. An Honest Answer

_Primrose hadn't expected Olberic to answer her invasive question honestly that night. Then again, she hadn't expected to answer it honestly herself._

* * *

An Honest Answer

"H'much fer a dance, m'lady?" Another drunken 'gentlemen' slurred as he approached Primrose, a half full tankard sloshing into Olberic's lap as he leered.

"More than you can afford, good sir." Primrose declined for what Olberic assumed was tenth time that night as she sipped her wine. To be quite honest, he'd stopped counting after the fourth man had spilt beer in his lap and had instead decided to devote his attention to keeping them away from his friend as well as keeping his tunic dry.

"C'mon..." The man persisted, clearly not taking the hint as he started to lean in even closer. "I know h'much a Sunlan' dancer like ya's worth, Lass..."

Olberic stood quite abruptly, his hand resting on his sword hilt as he towered over the man. He need not draw his sword, only intimidate. At least, he hadn't had to do more with the other men who came leering.

"Tough guy, are ya?" He squared his shoulder and tried to glare up at him through his bleary, lidded eyes, turning his back on Primrose. "Think ya can handle _me_?"

Before the man could do anything more than shift his weight to his dominant foot, Primrose had her dagger point firmly lodged between his shoulder blades. "Olberic, I suggest we leave before I do something this man will regret."

"Perhaps that would be the best course of action." Olberic agreed, finishing the last of his tankard in a gulp as Primrose chugged down the last of her wine. Without breaking eye contact – if you could call glaring at someone with half closed, drunk eyes making eye contact – Olberic offered his arm to Primrose as lead her out of the tavern. She kept her dagger tight in her grip as they left the tavern, so there was really no need for Olberic to glower and look so imposing, but he'd sworn himself a protector to his friend on this 'night on the town' as she had called it and he'd be damned if he was going to fail at protecting someone else.

Granted, the two of them had only been travelling together for a few weeks, but they'd come to know each other quite well in that time. Or, rather, they'd come to know that they weren't particularly interested in the people who threw themselves at them in bars. Primrose clearly cared not for most men, not that Olberic could blame her considering what she'd had to endure during her life as a dancer. Meanwhile, Olberic clearly didn't have eyes for women, for anyone for that matter. For a while, Primrose had thought his intentions were to remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. Then she saw the look that came to his eye, the lilt of passion that came to his voice, when he spoke of his former partner in Hornburg, the man he was searching for.

So, when men and women approached the two of them when they were trying to have a quite night in the tavern, they had each others backs, going so far as to act as a married couple from time to time. Yet, they never asked each other why they acted that way, they never asked the question they were both so keen to ask.

Until that night.

Perhaps it was the chill in the air that made her ask, or maybe the romance of the clear, starry sky brought the question to her lips. Whatever it was, Primrose couldn't stop the question from tumbling from her lips as they made their way back to their inn rooms.

"Olberic?"

"Yes, Primrose?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

She couldn't say she was surprised by the way he'd come to a complete standstill at that question, frozen in place as his eyes disappeared to a place and time he'd long lost to his memories. To thoughts of a person he thought he'd never see again.

What did surprise Primrose, however, was his answering question, "Have you?"

She supposed she should have expected the question, to have an answer ready for him. Instead, she'd actually expected him to think she was hitting on him and become so flustered that she'd have a good laugh before going to sleep. Instead, it seemed like she was going to have to have an actual conversation. Because, while Olberic wasn't one to pry or continuously ask a question until he got an answer he liked, he was one to keep an eyebrow raised, to ever wonder what the answer might be.

And Primrose was quite tired of never having someone she could be honest with. "Twice."

The continued walking through the streets, facing forward as the silence of the night came to claim them. Crickets chirped, cats mewled and drunks yelled, but they said nothing and carried on walking.

Until Olberic responded. "Once."

An owl let out a small hoot, the wind responded as it rustled the leaves beneath their feet, a yelp of delight came from the house they passed as they carried on to the inn.

"It was a long time ago." Olberic started, not meeting Primrose's eye as she looked up at him. No, he looked up at the stars, his eyes far, far away. "And not proper amongst the ranks of the knights."

"I cannot say either of my loves were particularly proper myself." Primrose responded, a slight, dark chuckle escaping her lips. "The gardener and a fellow dancer aren't exactly the most proper of companions for a noble's daughter."

"Nor is the second knight in command a particularly appropriate partner for the first." Olberic chuckled slightly himself, his eyes lost so completely to thought that he spoke freely for perhaps the first time since they'd met. "But one cannot stop feelings taking root inside one's heart. Instead, all one can do is lean into it or away from it, depending on how the other acts."

"How did he?" Primrose asked, curious for sure, but more enjoying the rare smile creasing Olberic's features.

"We had a tradition back in Hornburg. Once a year, the sky was lit with man made stars in celebration of our king. And it was on that night that… it was almost as though I saw him for the first time that night. Alight in the glow of a thousand embers of different colours, shining almost like a star himself… His oft troubled eyes were calm that night, focused only on the present, showing only the reflection of the stars in the sky. To see him like that was… the most wondrous feeling."

"Something about him resonated deep inside of you, didn't it?" Primrose asked, remembering the first time she'd felt something like that herself. While Olberic must have been a similar age to she now when he'd first felt it, she'd been a child of only 12 or so years when she first met her love. And only a few weeks younger than she was now when she'd realised she'd felt it once again. "Something about him… Freed your heart, opened your mind. And suddenly you realised there was more to the world than you ever knew."

Olberic let out a rather deep breath, but said nothing more. Instead, they carried on in silence once again, listening to the sounds of wildlife and wild people that only night in a town could bring with it.

"Do you wish to see them again?" Olberic asked, his voice quiet, his answer all too obvious in his very reason for journeying.

If he'd asked her last month, she'd have said no. However, since then, she'd had to say goodbye to one of her loves. And she wasn't ready to say goodbye to the other before she told him how she felt. "...Yes. But first, I must do what must be done to become the woman he remembers me to be."

"Then allow me to help you get there." Olberic offered, looking her in the eye once again with an honest smile on his face that spoke quite plainly of the fact that he thought that woman was still within Primrose somewhere.

For the first time in forever, Primrose started to think she was too. "Only if you allow me to help you get to yours."

And so they shook on it, a silent promise to see one another returned to the arms of their loves vowed on that not so silent night. They would return to them both better people than those they fell in love with, but still the same person at heart. They would return to them both freed of these heavy chains that life had handed them, ready to move towards their next chapter, this one hopefully with their love by their side.


	68. The Princess and the Noble Thief

_Cordelia certainly had an active imagination._

* * *

The Princess and the Noble Thief

Once upon a time, the story started, there was a young Princess.

Young and naive though she was, she was unfortunately no stranger to pain or tragedy. At the young age of seven she lost both her parents to a carriage accident and soon found whom she could trust in a world full only of darkness and pain.

Of course, there are better ways than losing one's parents to find out whom one can and cannot trust, unfortunately, the Princess had not the luxury to try other methods.

At their funeral, she was paraded around the room like an ornament, having tales of how great her parents were relayed to her time and time again as their 'friends' cried and passive-aggressively fought over who would get the castle, the grounds, the money that the King and Queen had left behind. They paid no attention to the sad orphan, no one fought to adopt her, to care for her. And those that did did it only for themselves, to gain money, acclaim.

To gain the Princess' trust so that they could steal heirlooms and priceless treasures when her back was turned.

They were dark days for the Princess. There was no one she could turn to, no one she could trust not to stab her in then back and steal her family's most precious treasure. Even her most trusted butler disappeared after her family's four treasured stones, the stones her family had sworn to protect for generations, were stolen.

She was alone, truly alone in this world. And it was all she could do to not lose her mind.

Thankfully, time is kind, it heals wounds and returns that which was lost.

Before the year was out – though it truly felt like so much longer – her butler returned, one of the stolen treasures in his hand. He told her of his journeys in search of them, of his promise to her Father – the King – to protect her after he was gone. Of course, having been betrayed by everyone she'd thought a friend, the Princess did not believe the butler at first. For all she knew, he could have stolen all four of the stones for his own nefarious deeds and only brought back the one to make her his slave and do his bidding.

But, time, again, heals all wounds. Over the course of the next decade, the princess came to understand the butler, her protector, and came to trust him, to confide in him. In time, she started to step out into the world, a princess ready to help the people she deemed worthy of helping with her butler by her side.

Yet he never stopped looking for the stolen relics, never stopped searching on her behalf.

Eventually, however, the butler decided that perhaps there was a better way to go about searching for the relics. So he started to spread stories, enticing every thief in the land to the castle to steal heirlooms worth more gold than anyone would ever need. At first, the princess was apprehensive, understandably so, but before long she started to get disheartened not because people were trying to steal from her, but because they were failing. How was it that they couldn't figure out how to get past the guards or into the house without alerting the butler?

It was dispiriting, but it was all they could do. Now that the stories had started to spread, the butler could hardly leave the princess' side to go searching for the relics himself. No, he needed to be there to protect her, should a worthy thief arrive.

Finally, a near full decade after the death of her parents, a thief arrived far sharper than the rest. Not only was his tongue as silver as his hair, his fingers as quick as his wit, but his eye was as sharp as his blade, seeing the truth of what was happening almost before the butler appeared before him, ready to fight.

He wasn't, however, quick enough to avoid walking into their trap, into doing their bidding. And, well, the princess could understand his hurt. No free bird wanted to be chained, shackled into doing the bidding of another master. They simply want to fly free, to steal from whomever they want without any repercussions.

The thing was, the princess recognised that look of hurt in his eye as something more than a lack of freedom. It was the look of the distrusting, the betrayed. It was a look she herself had worn everyday until her butler had returned to her trust.

And she wanted to be the one to help him trust once again.

So she saw him off on his quest for her, she wished him well despite his protests. She prayed to the Gods that he'd return unharmed.

A few moons later, he did, unharmed, unruffled, with one of the relic's in the palm of his hand. It seemed as though mere words could not convey her gratitude to the thief, but that look was still all too clear in his eye, the look of the betrayed, the distrusting. The princess couldn't help but wonder what would break it, who would break it.

Could it have been her?

When next he returned to them, he looked even more downcast than usual. A broken man, let alone a broken thief, with not a relic in his hand, not a leaf to his name and the mark of the fool at his wrist.

The butler left them after he admitted his defeat, off on the search of the relic's himself. That, the princess believed, was the last blow to the thief's pride. To not only be beaten and have the relics stolen from his hand, but to be cast to the side by a mere servant who thought he could do his job better…

It broke her heart. And so, the princess found herself reaching out to him, telling him about her own experience of betrayal before she wished him well. Before she told him she believed in him, that she had faith in him.

She swore she hadn't imagined the smile on his face, the look of something akin to trust in his eye as he left her once again.

Imagined or not, the Princess couldn't keep that look out of her mind the long month she waited for her thief and butler to return. Whenever she thought of that slight smile, she found a smile coming to her own face, and a slight blush coming to her cheeks.

And though she'd waited for them both for much longer periods of time before, that last month seemed to drag on the longest. There were many nights when she wondered if they'd even return, if the other thief had killed them. Her heart would break at the thought, her stomach flip.

But she had faith, they would return, she was sure.

Then, one bright sunny morning, the Princess opened her curtains and saw them crest the rise into town.

She was out the door almost before she was dressed, keen to hug them, to welcome them back to her with open, appreciative arms. They were downtrodden, a little worse for wear and a certainly a little mucky, but they had returned, carrying the last two relics in their hands.

Their mission had been a success, their captive thief was freed.

Now the Princess was feeling something else entirely.

If she couldn't express her gratitude, she certainly couldn't express her sorrow as she saw the thief leave, ready to move on to the next town, the next pocket to pick. All she could do was see him off again, ask where he might travel next and wish him the best.

All she could do was hold onto hope that she might see him again, might see that slightly sarcastic smile once again return to his lips.

Instead she got something far better, an honest smile, a real smile. A smile and a thank you.

And then he ran away, surely out of her life for good.

She never forgot him, her gallant thief. She'd stay up at night, a candle at her window, waiting and hoping for him to one day wander back into town. Waiting and hoping for him to tell her his emotions, ones she was sure matched her own.

Time, relentless beast that it was, wore on, stealing her memories of his voice and mannerisms as the moons came and went. But it could not steal her memory of his smile, his thank you as he ran away once again. It could not steal the emotions he made the princess feel, nothing could steal them.

Still, time continued its march and there was no sign of her thief returning. And the Princess had made her peace with that. There would be other men, ones who felt the same way as her, who came from a reputable status. She could love them instead. She could move on from her thief.

Until one late, cold night many months later.

By now, the princess had given up hope. There was no way her thief was ever coming back, no way he was every returning to her side now. No, he wasn't going to return to the scene of the biggest humiliation of his life.

Hidden deep beneath her blankets, the princess wept for her noble thief, the man who had stolen for her, had acted against the law for her. She wept for the man she was never going to see again.

Only to hear a creak in her door, a crack on the floor boards as someone approached.

Assuming it was just her butler coming to check on her, to tell her to stop reading and start sleeping, the princess peaked her head out from her blankets to tell him to leave her be.

Only to see her thief waiting just beyond the foot of her bed.

"What are you doing here?!" The princess indignantly whispered, so shocked to see him before her that she forgot that she'd ever wanted to see him again to begin with.

"I couldn't stay away any longer." He whispered back, approaching the princess cautiously, like all propriety hadn't been thrown out the window when he'd snuck in.

"What?!"

"I have to tell you how I feel." He whispered in response, his eyes gazing deep into her own as he drew her hand out of her blankets. "I love you."

"AW!" Noa screeched in delight as her friend read the newest paragraph of her story to her on her inn bed. They were both huddled together under the blankets, chatting in hushed whispered as the rest of the adults in the inn slept. "Oh, so romantic! What happens next?!"

"Well..." Cordelia chuckled slightly to herself, less embarrassed to be telling Noa this part of her story aloud than she would have been writing it down. "Next, the Princess says-"

"Ooh, what does she say?" A voice came from outside of the blankets, followed immediately by the loud crunching of someone eating apples in their inn room.

Cautiously, and in unison, the girls poked their heads out from the blanket, only to see Therion sat on their dresser, an unashamed smile on his face that told them he'd been listening the whole time.

"THERION!" Cordelia shouted, redder than his apple as she disappeared back under her blankets. "What in the Gods names are you doing in my inn room?! Leave!"

"Aw, but your story was just starting to heat up." Therion sulked, stomping loudly out of the room to let them know he was leaving.

"Leave!" Cordelia screamed again, so ashamed that he'd heard her story. What would he think of her now?

"Okay, I'm leaving." Therion said, opening the door with an audible creak before calling back over his shoulder. "Oh, Cordelia, you should know, a thief would never say 'love'. They'd be too ashamed to be caught saying it aloud."

"Would you just leave?" Noa asked, not a clue who the man in their room was or why her friend was having such an extreme reaction to him.

"I'm leaving..." And with that, the door closed and the girls were alone once again.

Satisfied that the interrupter was gone, Noa pulled the blanket back over her head and turned to Cordelia, "Where were we?"

But the story stopped there that night, with Cordelia insisting that she was too embarrassed to continue. And while she certainly was red in the face, Noa rather got the impression that she was embarrassed about something else entirely...


	69. To Make Amends

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed last week, I really appreciate it and am glad to hear you liked it! As I often say, I really cannot thank you enough for your continued reading and reviewing and favouriting, I can't believe Travel On's been going so long!_

 _Here's to many more stories!_

* * *

 _When Ophilia tells her sister that she's leaving again soon for another extended trip, Lianna decides she can't let her go alone._

* * *

To Make Amends

Lianna was mostly silent on the walk back to Flamesgrace, lost so completely to her thoughts that she didn't hear when Ophilia called her name the first time.

"Lianna!" Ophilia called again, stopping in her tracks. Admittedly, Lianna didn't hear her that second time either, she just felt an emptiness to her left and looked up to find her sister almost a full metre behind her.

"What's wrong, Phili?" Lianna asked, her tone of voice light enough but her eyes dark, shadowed by nightmares and lack of sleep.

"I was going to ask you the same question!" Ophilia exclaimed in that cheerful way of hers, but there was worry there, a genuine concern masked behind her chipper smile. "Is something on your mind?"

"It's nothing, Phili." Lianna shook her head, turning her back to her sister intent on carrying on.

After all, it really was nothing. Nothing she hadn't said to her before.

These last few months had been a great challenge for Lianna. Not only was she having to come to terms with her father's death, but also all the mistakes she made on her journey to bring him back. So close she had come to losing her sister as well. So close she had come to plunging the entire world into darkness, all because she'd been selfish in her desires to revive the dead.

Of course, her sister had made every effort to make her feel better, had even helped her and Eliza in Wispermill, but it didn't help. Still, she struggled with the darkness inside her, the darkness that said she wasn't worthy of life anymore. And she had no idea how to quiet it, the voice in her head telling her she was unworthy. She had no idea how to make amends for the terrible deed she'd almost done.

"Lianna," Ophilia called to her again, jogging to catch up when she realised she wasn't going to stop this time. "Have I told you where I am going after we return to Flamesgrace?"

"You're leaving again so soon?" Lianna asked in surprise, turning to look at Ophilia.

"I'm afraid so. There's something I wish to see finished before I can return to my duties."

"And what's that?" Lianna asked, a note of frustration in her voice. The only times she felt at peace was when Ophilia was around, to have her leave her again, for who knew how long…

"Well, when I was travelling with the others, we happened upon a tome detailing a ritual that could supposedly bring back Galdera."

"Wasn't that what I was doing?" She asked in a quiet voice, an icy chill running through her veins that had nothing to do with the perpetual Frostland snow.

"No. Mattias was using you to gain Galdera's power." Ophilia shook her head, her eyes steely as she remember all the pain that man had caused her, all the trouble. "This ritual would actually bring Galdera back to life."

"And you're going to stop it, alone?" Asked Lianna in utter disbelief. Not only was her sister leaving her, but she was leaving her to do something so incredibly stupid.

"Of course not! The others I travelled Orsterra with will be there." Ophilia smiled, seeming to think that the fact that she was going to be accompanied by seven other idiots would make the task of defeating a God easier.

"Ophilia, you can't-"

"Hush now, I want to tell you something before I leave." Ophilia grabbed her sister's shoulders and forced her to look her in the eye. "Should the worst happen, and I do not return, or the Dark God takes over the world, please… Please know that I love you."

"Ophilia, that's enough." Lianna pulled her hands off her shoulders, taking them in her own and looking Ophilia square in the eye. "You're not leaving me. Not you too."

"Oh, Lianna." Before she knew it, she was treated to one of those rare, all encompassing hugs Ophilia gave, one that made sure she knew everything was going to be alright, that she was never going to leave her.

But Lianna needed to be more certain, she needed to know for sure that her sister was never going to leave her. "I'm coming with you."

"Lianna..."

Her face buried in Ophilia's shoulder, Lianna continued. "I'm never leaving your side again. I'll fight and heal besides you, even if it puts me in danger."

"Lianna-"

"You can't change my mind on this, Ophilia. I. I need to make things right."

"If you are that insistent..." Ophilia pulled away, wiping away the tears from Lianna's eyes, ones she hadn't realised were falling. "This won't be an easy battle, you know."

"I know."

"We might not survive."

"At least we'd die together."


	70. Waking Up

_Now that I've written a death chapter for each traveler, the monthly tragedies are going to change a little bit. Instead of being deaths and tragedies as they have been previously, they're instead going to focus on what could have happened if someone had been there to save them. They're still going to be angsty I expect, but they're not going to be tragedies in the same regard._

 _Anyway, here's the first alternative tragedy - I suppose you could call it - how Primrose was saved from death._

* * *

 _With a little help, one can recover from any nightmare._

* * *

Waking Up

Just one crow short...

 _Now she was on fire, a literal burning flame screaming endlessly and silently. All she could hear was that laugh, that Gods forsaken laugh. It echoed endlessly, bouncing off of every invisible wall, chasing itself around the darkness of her dreams as she struggled for breath._

 _Even a flame needed oxygen if it was to survive, after all._

 _Instead she continued to scream, to extinguish herself, to grow into an ever smaller ember as the sensation of being on fire seemed to disappear._

"Her fever's broken."

 _Now she was cold, all too cold. Her fingertips were numb, blackened stubs at the end of her hands; her feet were frostbitten, hidden beneath the ankle deep snow. Everywhere she looked was a blizzard, one far worse than any she'd ever seen in the Frostlands. One one shouldn't stand in dressed only in a Sunland dancer's garb._

 _And still that laughter echoed around her as she searched for its source. She had to know, she had to understand. So she forged on in the snow, lost, so lost, as she searched him out._

 _The snow behind her was bright red, slick and hot from where the blood pouring out of her chest had fallen._

"Help!"

 _The voice changed her dream yet again, now she was on a stage, performing even as she bled out. Her limbs, even her chin, were tied tight with strings, pulled into their performance by some higher power, someone using her like a toy._

 _Finally, her broken performance came to an end and she was forced into a bow, her hand at the cavity in her chest where her heart had been pulled out. The laughter that had echoed around her, endlessly chasing after her, taunting her, came to an abrupt stop as one person applauded._

" _That was a virtuoso performance, my love!"_

" _Leave me..." She struggled to say in response, trying to turn her face elsewhere, to not meet his eye. But the puppeteer forced her to watch as he approached yet again._

 _A beast who wore the face of the man she'd once loved, the mark of the man who'd murdered her father so clear at his neck. A man who carried himself as a noble would, a man who wrote tragedies for fun, who had penned her final scene._

" _Look at the tears she weeps, the blood she spills… and pity her."_

" _I want… no pity." She forced out of her caving lungs, her breath ragged, her eyes closed even as the puppeteer tried to force her to watch. She still had some control, she was sure she still had some control…_

" _Oh, the tragedy!" She could feel his breath on her face, she could feel him stood before her. Against her very will, her arms were forced around him, her head was forced into his chest as he cooed to her, stroked her hair. Before long, he pulled her chin away and pulled her eyelids apart, forced her to look into his own. There was nothing there, a darkness as unfathomable as death itself. "It moves me to the depths of my soul."_

 _The strings that held her suspended, a captive performer, were snapped. She fell to her knees, her arms about her chest as the man she'd been clinging to disappeared into the darkness and that awful laughter started once again._

" _Fare thee well, my poor, poor love..."_

"Lady Primrose, can you hear me?"

 _Finally there was nothing, silence and emptiness..._

 _...Then a parade of memories flashed before her crying eyes. The first time she'd met him, the times he'd sung to her from the garden to her window, the times he'd sung to her in her room, told her plays and stories most beautiful. The times they'd embraced, the times they'd laughed together._

 _The time he'd stabbed her father._

With a gasp she woke up, forcing herself into a sitting position as her hand immediately flew to her chest.

It was whole, her heart still beat within.

With a relieved sigh, her head started to reel. A pain erupted in it like no other and suddenly she was seeing stars, dizziness came to claim her as she fell back onto her back. There was a heat just below her chest, a fire so hot that she wanted to throw it up.

Of course, she knew she couldn't, that was where she'd been stabbed after all. Yet still, she couldn't help but feel queasy.

But, perhaps, it wasn't the wound that made her dizzy, perhaps it wasn't the way that she'd woken from her dream so suddenly. Perhaps it was that feeling of disgust that had taken root inside of her, disgust that she would have trusted someone who would use her so freely.

Perhaps that was why his laughter still echoed around her head.

Eventually, Forsythe returned and told her what had happened, how long she'd been unconscious. He told her how he and his wife had kept her alive, breathing as their son had cleared the rest of the Obsidian rats out of their town. Once again, she found her head reeling, this time not in pain nor disgust, but shock.

How long had it been since she'd last been taken care of by someone else, how long had it been since she'd last _let_ herself be taken care of by someone else? How long could she stay like this, in the nurturing warmth of a family house, the healing arms of her former friends?

After a full week of bed rest and healing from Frosythe and his wife, Primrose was able to walk again, to stand without falling. She was able to smile again, to think without an awful pain erupting as she got too lost, too deep in her memories.

Yet still, that laughter echoed around her head, taunting her.

After another two days of rest with them, they finally told her where Simeon had gone to, where she could find him and exact revenge not just for her father, but also herself.

The next morning – after a dozen thank yous and hugs - she was on the road again, her back to her home town and her heart to those who had healed her. Her resolve was absolute, her face was set. Even if it meant killing her former love, she would get her revenge.

It was time to lower the curtain, once and for all.


	71. A Former Thief

_After a challenging few days in Wellspring, Olberic and Therion find themselves in the tavern, listening to the story of how Olberic came to be accepted as knight in King Alfred's court._

* * *

A Former Thief

There had been two missions for the travelers to complete in Wellspring: find Therion's black market and Dragonstone and find Olberic's former partner. Both missions had been completed during their first two days in the village and both had left a bad taste in each of their mouths. Therion had lost the stone he'd been searching for and had been forced to face a man he'd hoped never to see again; Olberic had found his reason to wielding his sword, had gotten the answer he'd searched for all these years and yet, his journey was not over. Neither of them were, not yet.

Perhaps that was why their friends left the two of them to drink alone that last night in Wellspring.

Of course, they should have expected that neither man would want to talk. That they'd spend most of the night in silence, looking into opposite corners of the tavern. But, as much as they'd anticipated the silence, they had also known one of them would break it eventually.

Not that anyone could have expected it to be Olberic, nor expected the story he told in doing so.

"Have I ever told you of my past, Therion?" Olberic asked, sloshing the last dregs of his ale around in his tankard.

"No." Therion answered, non-communicably as he stared off into the distance.

"Nigh on half my life ago, I was a waif not all that different from you."

"Oh really?" Therion asked sarcastically. "You, knight incarnate, were a waif?"

"Nobody is born a noble knight." Olberic shook his head. "However, I will not deny that my boyhood wish was to be a knight in his Majesty's service."

"Well good on you for achieving that wish, not all of us get that chance." Therion drained the last of his tankard and signalled to the barkeep to bring another one over.

"I was only afforded the opportunity to try for knighthood because I broke into the castle." Olberic admitted as he tipped the barkeep and took the tankards he'd brought them.

"You what?" Therion asked in surprise, looking at him for the first time that night.

"I was a young fool, certain that I could use the riches in the castle to buy myself food for the month without getting caught." He chuckled slightly to himself. "Quite the fool indeed."

"What happened?"

"I was caught near immediately by the castle guards." Olberic admitted, finally feeling free now that he was confessing this story, one that had haunted him for years. "There was not a doubt in my young mind that I would leave that castle a head shorter. However, King Alfred was merciful. His Majesty ordered a fool's bangle much like your own be attached to my wrist and I be forced to work for him for a month to make up for it."

"Seems like he was the fool, taking someone who'd just tried to steal from you into your employ is quite the bold move."

"Indeed." Olberic nodded in agreement, setting his tankard down and looking off into the distance as he thought back on those days. "And I will not deny that I tried to steal from him many times during that first week. However, the second week his Majesty tasked me with polishing the weapons and laying down clean hay in the training yard."

"And let me guess, it changed your life for the better..."

"I cannot deny the truth to your words." Olberic sighed, realising he'd lost his captive audience. "However, the moral of this story is not that I was given the chance to change my ways, but that someone was trusting enough in me to give me that chance."

"Trust, huh." Therion very nearly spat out the word. "Don't put much stock in it myself."

"I cannot blame you." Olberic shook his head in agreement and clapped his hand on the young thief's shoulder. "And I will not ask you to trust me, explain yourself nor even believe my story. All I ask of you, Therion, is that you continue to move forward. To stagnate now would be like admitting defeat. I believe you still have some fight left in you."

And with that, Oiberic stood and left the tavern, leaving Therion alone with his thoughts and tankard.

Was there still a fighter left within him, someone desperate to see this battle to its end, the Dragonstones returned to Cordelia? Or was he about to run, as fast and as far as he could, to some remote corner of the world where they didn't know what the bangle on his wrist meant or, perhaps, knew how to remove it.

Of course, his thoughts were merely that. He knew what he was going to do. In much the same way that Olberic had needed to see Erhardt again after all these years, Therion needed to see Darius. He needed to know why he sought power, why he stole the stones.

Perhaps Olberic and the others had gotten to him more than he'd like to admit. To think that he'd want to see Darius again, after all these years…

Olberic had left him with a lot of food for thought that night. As well as their bill, it appeared.

"Sneaky bastard." Therion commented with a smile as the barkeep appeared before him and told him how much the two of them owed.

Perhaps he wasn't so far changed from the thieving waif he'd once been.


	72. A Different Perspective

_It took Linde some time to welcome the other travelers into her and H'aanit's pack._

* * *

A Different Perspective

H'aanit was in almost every one of her memories. She was as close to her as any cub to their mother yet, with the progression of time, she felt no need to leave and fend for herself like most cubs would. Instead, she continued to walk the path by her side, to do as she commanded when she seldom commanded her to do something.

Often, there were two other members of their pack not far away from H'aanit, unless they were out on their own hunts. And, while she had a definite preference for H'aanit's silence and calming voice, Linde was rather fond of Z'aanta and - after they bridged the natural species rivalry - she found herself rather fond of Hägen as well.

All in all, their little life as S'warkii hunters was everything Linde could want out of life.

Then Z'aanta had to go after a quarry just a little too fearsome, then those travellers had to come into their lives.

Now, under no circumstances did Linde not like those her mistress came to travel with it was just that, well, they were rather _loud_. And their reasons for travelling, the quarries they were hunting, they were rather difficult for an animal to wrap her head around.

Her mistress' mission, that she understood. She also wanted to rescue Master Z'aanta, to reunite their pack and stop her mistress from worrying so much, but the others…

The blonde lady's mission seemed to involve a ritual which, on the surface, Linde could understand – animals had their own rituals, after all. But to travel so far not in search of food or mates but in search of another flame to kindle seemed rather foolish to her. Could fire not be just as well kindled by any match? What made the flame in the lantern at the holy woman's waist so special?

Still, Linde took to Ophilia rather quickly. She was calm, quiet and soft spoken, the kind of qualities that would draw even the most skittish kittens close. Not only that, but she had a smile that almost seemed to warm her fur, that put her at ease without the need of scritches.

Even better, however, were the scritches that she did give. Almost too frequently, Linde would lie down at Ophilia's feet after a long day's journey and let the cleric softly, absently scratch her ears as she purred.

That one at least, Linde was happy her mistress met. She took a lot longer to warm to the others.

Tressa was the next to earn her purrs when she brought her a new shiny toy, one she could chase up and down the streets without tangling up in it. When she looked at it between her paws at night it appeared to be little more than a piece of glass shaped to purposefully focus the light which she could then chase. However, the simplicity of it wasn't enough to stop her chasing it as they travelled. And besides, the young girl also gave rather good pats.

Unexpectedly to everyone but her and the thief, Linde took to Therion quite quickly after Tressa. The other travellers just couldn't figure out why – Primrose assumed it was because Linde liked chasing the light that came off the leaves in his purse – but that was because he befriended her in secret, late at night long after everyone else had gone to sleep. With just a little piece of jerky and a few ear rubs, Therion managed to convince Linde that he wasn't doing anything too bad when he went out on his nightly excursions. No truly bad man would try to befriend her like he did, would explain himself to her when he returned in the early hours of the morning.

And, while she never really let on to the others that he'd been treating her, she certainly acted trusting around him, giving him reassuring looks during teasing conversations and lying at his feet when the camped in the forest sometimes.

Though, most of the time when they camped at night, Linde would curl herself around Primrose and provide her with her furry warmth. Distrusting and even fearful at first, the reason it took so long for the leopard and dancer to click was not because Linde hadn't been trying, but because Primrose had been avoiding her.

Still, camping in the Frostlands is cold no matter what you wear, but doing so in a dancers garb was just foolish. Waiting until she'd fallen into a shivering sleep that night, Linde got up from her customary sleeping place near her mistress and curled herself around the dancer's body, wrapping her forepaws around her as comfortingly as she could. After that night, Primrose didn't mind being around her so much any more. In fact, when they camped she would often call her over to her, would let the animal get comfortable first before she them curled into her.

It was rather sweet for her mistress to witness.

Still, with most of the group now firmly wrapped around her furry paw, Linde turned her attention to the last three men and making them stop treating her like an animal but a companion.

Olberic was the easiest to convince of the three. A few battles won with her fighting and biting by his side told him all he needed to know – he could trust this oversized cat. What's more, he stopped treating her as a beast after that and treated her as a friend, asking how her hunt had been and the like while he rubbed her back and told her about his own day.

Alfyn and Cyrus were both much harder to deal with. The former liked to produce all manner of vile smelling and tasting concoctions for her to eat and slather herself in when she got injured. Could she not just have her ears rubbed by Ophilia and have all be well? Why did she sometimes need to have wrappings covering her to heal just a cut from a ratkin?

Still, after the third or fourth time his concoctions had made her feel better, Linde started to admit to herself that he was a helpful man to have around and the terrible smell _might_ be better than the lingering pain. ...And he did give pretty good ear scritches too…

But Cyrus. Cyrus had always been on thin ice around her.

Almost since they'd met he'd been studying her, how she interacted with the others, how she carried herself and went about her personal business. It was quite frankly invasive at times and utterly infuriating that he never seemed to understand that her growls meant 'go away'. It wasn't until after her mistress intervened and told him that she was uncomfortable that he started to back off. However, that was quite a while after they'd started travelling together and, actually, as soon as he started to back off and observe her from afar, she started to miss him.

One night, a quarter moon after he'd started to leave her alone, Linde went to him with her ball toy and dropped it at his feet as a peace offering. Not seeming to understand her custom, he threw it for her to fetch. With a withering glance in her mistress' chuckling direction, Linde walked off to fetch her toy and bring it back to the scholar again, thinking, perhaps, that he should have continued to study her after all.

Still, after one or two more throws, Linde started to get into the game, raising her tail high in excitement each time she brought her ball back and bounding off in glee as she went to collect it again.

It was that night, after everyone went to their separate rooms to sleep, that her mistress asked her a question as they curled up together.

"How art thou finding mine new companions, Linde?" She asked, gently rubbing the bridge of her nose.

She barked slightly before dissolving into a purr, a noise her mistress would understand as meaning she preferred it when it was just the two of them but she had come to like these new travelling friends of hers.

"I see." H'aanit chuckled, moving to hold her as she had when she was but a child: protectively close to her chest in fear that Z'aanta might try to take her away again. "Well, I supposen that I muste maken more of an effort to spende time with thee."

Linde tilted her head to the side in confusion.

"I cannot letten mine friends becomen more friendly with thee than I!" She said as Linde let out a purring laugh, a noise that reassured her that that would never happen. "I knowe. Letten me ben foolish, Linde, juste once."

Smiling to herself, Linde snuggled into her mistress thinking that, perhaps, this journey would be worth all the noise after all.


	73. To Stand Again

_A slight break in tradition today, this month's 'tragedy' has been brought a week forward since next week's story's a Halloween special. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

 _Just who was it who nursed Therion back to health after Darius pushed him off the cliff?_

* * *

To Stand Again

"Help me… Partner..."

The floor beneath his head was slick with blackening blood, pouring sluggishly from the crack in the back of his skull. His very body was almost as purple as his clothes, covered in bruises so raw they were painful to even look at. His limbs pointed in vastly opposite directions, bent at joints that had never existed in a normal human's body.

And still he lived. Desperately in pain, calling out silently to every God that he could remember to ask them to take him away from his pine needle bed. To be merciful, just once.

And still they ignored him. Why would they listen to the pleas of a betrayed thief?

"My, my." A voice came to him in the darkness at last, a voice that forced him to open his heavy lidded eyes and look up at the blurred outline of a woman knelt before him. "What have we here?"

Therion could do little more than groan in response.

"Oh, it's still alive." She sounded disappointed, letting out a heavy sigh. "Shame. I'd rather hoped to get a look at your insides before the birdians got to you."

And so the voice rose to her feet, moving on with a click and crack of her heels on the needles below.

"Wa-wait." Therion managed to croak to her, attempting to lift his broken arm to grab her ankle and finding only screaming pain as he tried to move.

"What was that, thief?" The voice asked, moving to stand besides him yet again. He still couldn't see her face, but her voice was most haughty, the voice of the rich who saw no reason to help anyone for anything less than half their life savings.

"Save… me."

"I think not." She laughed, a delightful little laugh that brought with it the echoes of much deeper laughs – likely from her bodyguards, though Therion couldn't see them.

"I have… much tre-treasure." Therion insisted. He wasn't ready to die, not yet. Punishment needed to be carried out, by any means. "It-It's yours… If you..."

"Hmm." The voice hummed to herself in thought for a moment before snapping her fingers. Minutes later, Therion's limp body was being carried by her bodyguards to a clearing she could use to mix her treatments. As he was moved, the woman – a young lady with deep purple hair and air of confident medical understanding – lent in close to his face. "If you're lying to me about your treasures, if you skimp me out of even one leaf, me and my men will leave you in a ditch in even worse shape than you are now."

And so Therion spent the next three months of his life being nursed back to health by this woman, this diabolical apothecary intent only on stealing his treasures, not on healing his broken body. When words started to come easier than screams, Therion tried desperately to make conversation with her, to learn anything about her and the men she had employed to watch him 24/7 despite the fact that he couldn't move.

All he learnt was her name, Vanessa Hysel. And he couldn't even be sure if that was real; the name he gave her certainly wasn't.

Still, what need did a woman like her have for giving him a fake name? What was a thief going to do, sully her name in taverns that were already sullying his own?

After a while, he decided to keep silent and his questions to himself. Vanessa wasn't a particular fan of that and decided to try and get him to speak at every turn. When it seemed like he was going to stay silent or not answer her invasive questions, she put her anatomy knowledge to use, breaking him even as she healed him.

Therion got rather good a lying during those months. When he gave a satisfactory answer, she stopped trying to break him and started healing him again. So he told her stories most outlandish, most improbable, but so carefully crafted that she couldn't help but be hooked on his every word as she sewed him up and fed him just the most foul tasting tinctures.

The whole while his mind was elsewhere, mostly with Darius. He couldn't help but wonder where he'd gone now, why he'd betrayed him. However, he also couldn't believe how foolish he'd been. A thief has no right to trust another thief, it was every man for themselves in their profession.

He should have known that Darius would go on to betray him the moment a better offer, a better partner, presented itself.

So why did the idea of Darius stabbing him and leaving him in the dust hurt almost more than his broken body?

Finally, he was able to stand again. A week later, he was able to walk. And so Vanessa judged him healthy and demanded her payment. Knowing he wouldn't be able to leave her and her men behind while he gathered a part of his hidden retirement fund, Therion simply sighed and lead the way to his smallest buried treasure, thankful that he'd had the foresight to bury all his stolen goods in a variety of different places in a variety of different quantities across Orsterra.

Followed by four large men and a surprisingly tough healer, Therion once again sighed as he dug his treasure up from the roots of the willow tree that overlooked a small Riverland village.

Where would he go when his debt was paid? What would he do with himself now? Where was Darius, should he look for him immediately or would that only let hate cloud his judgement and actions?

"There you go, Princess." Therion said waspishly as he relinquished the small number of treasures he'd hidden there to Vanessa and her men as payment for mending him. He supposed it was only fair, but it did feel rather extortionate of her. Surely their were apothecaries out their who only did their work for the benefit of the people, not for the leaves that would line their pockets?

Though, if there were, why would they heal someone like him?

"Pleasure doing business with you, Master Darius." Vanessa said simply, laughing to herself as she and her men disappeared, unaware that there were still treasures buried deeper beneath that tree, that Therion had given her a fake name.

Burying his leftover treasures once again, Therion looked up at the leaves that hid him and his stolen goods from the outside world. Where now? What next? He'd not stolen alone since he was a child, would he still know how?

And so he carried on - head confidently high and dagger safely low - new burden to carry on his back, a new broken trust that would take much longer and more work to heal than his broken bones.


	74. Performers

_Apologies for the early update, I'm most likely not going to have access to the internet tomorrow so I figured I'd update early rather than late!_

 _This was meant to be a Halloween chapter and while it certainly has the plot I set out for it, it ended up rather different than expected. However, I really got into writing this one so I hope you enjoy it! And if you want a more traditional Halloween story for next week, check out Chapter 16 - Ghost Stories._

 _Thanks for reading!_

* * *

 _She was an actress, a performer. But this was more than a character._

* * *

Performers

The lady was a player. An actress, a songstress, a dancer. The lady was a performer, natural and fluid in her movements, honest and emotional in her performances.

Today she earned her first lead role.

To play a young noblewoman in the tragic tale of her life… Not the most original topic, to be sure. Nevertheless…

The lady was going to make the role her own. She would be the noblewoman both inside and out. She would put on the most amazing performance and earn more roles, better roles.

And opposite her as always was the gentleman. A poet, a dreamer, an actor. The gentleman could weave tales most fantastic, most dishonest as he batted an eyelash and let out a pearly laugh, wrapping every woman in the audience around his finger as the lady wrapped the men around hers.

Today he would play her enemy, not her lover. Today she would be forced to shout at him, to murder him in all but reality. For he killed the noblewoman's father and she was on a quest for revenge.

Today they were not the lady and the gentleman but rather Primrose Azelhart and Simeon the puppet master. And they were going to put on a play most impressive.

And so she appeared on the stage before the audience of hundreds, thousands… Perhaps even a million. In that moment she couldn't know, their faces were all as one as she curtsied and danced off to the darkened wings as the play began and Lady Primrose's younger actress appeared on the stage to play out the early years of her life.

As the play began in earnest, the actress playing Primrose seemed to see less and less of what was performed. She saw not what the players showed, but the light between the lines, the acts unwritten. And she saw them all in darkness, underexposed photos fading in the sunlight of her memories.

When the player showed her the first time she danced before her father, she saw the hours Primrose had laboured to get it perfect. When the actress cowered in the corner as the three crows murdered her father, she saw the man beneath the hood, the man with the face of her partner. And as she cried before her grave, the lady knew Primrose had never visited it, would never visit it until her father was avenged.

How she knew these things, the lady didn't know. It was almost as though, in a time long, long past, she had been her. She had been Lady Primrose Azelhart, had known her story more intimately than anyone else here could.

Then it was her cue.

On the stage once more, the lady performed most elegantly, dancing as the Sunland dancer Primrose had become in her search for her father. But she performed not the steps she'd been taught, not the ones she'd practised. No, she performed the steps Primrose had danced, the ones that got the men's attention, their lingering gazes as she searched for those marks, the marks of the crow.

With each spin, the audience got a little thinner. Suddenly, the amassed faces seemed to number dozens rather than the hundreds, thousands, millions that had been in the chairs when she'd first stepped on the stage. Was she performing poorly? Was she ruining the play as she put her own spin on it?

Still she played the part of Primrose to her own beat. She marched onwards towards the confrontation with Helganish.

And when she won the battle - when she stabbed the man - it was not fake blood on her dagger. It was not a man playing dead at her feet, but a truly dead man who let out terrifying, deathly groans as he bled out over her sandals.

But Lady Primrose would not have let that stop her, so the player didn't either. She pulled the map from his body and moved to the next scene.

Scene after scene the woman performed most effortlessly, channelling this dancer, this tragic woman as though she'd been her past self. The stage at her feet soon became slick with blood, her dress was soon no more red fabric than it was the blood of her fellow actors as she disposed of them and flicked the hair out of her face with the ball of her palm, spraying blood across her cheek as she continued to perform.

Then the gentleman appeared before her. Her character's lover turn nemesis.

And it was as though he was channelling his character too. That look in his eye, that look that saw not the blood that covered her but simply grabbed her hand and pulled her in for a hug, smearing it all over is own suit… It was a look the lady had never seen on his face before.

It was a look Primrose knew all too well. Simeon saw not the blood coating her because he was at least as covered in it as she was.

And when he stabbed her at the conclusion of that chapter, the dagger he used was no more fake than hers.

They were no longer the lady and the gentleman. They were Primrose and Simeon.

And they were performing for an audience of seven.

Bleeding out from a wound almost mortal, Primrose watched as the entire play she'd just performed was performed before her again. There was less blood, less light. They were black and white, ghosts dancing into the deep, dark depths of the stage as the spotlight focused only on her.

The bodies were no longer at her feet and yet still she stood in ankle deep blood. The players were no longer on the stage yet still she could hear the echoes of their words. The man before was her enemy but she could still see the man he'd once been.

The man who'd helped her get her first role, the man who'd written to the director begging her to be cast as the lead in this play.

The man who'd written the play.

His hair was not lavender but black, tangled and matted with blood. His suit was not pressed and perfect, but tattered and bedraggled, as stained as his hair and face. And that look in his eye… It was full of light, light the likes of which she'd never seen.

"Such a delightful show. Let's not lower the curtain yet, hm?" His voice a purr, he came to her, his bloody hand outstretched to tuck away yet another wayward lock of her hair.

She could do naught but stand there, watching as he spread blood on her cheek yet again, as he breathed onto her lips as he leant close.

"How many times in your life have you felt blessed to be here? When has life ever seemed like a gift? This world is nothing but pain nigh beyond the point of bearing. Constant, inescapable darkness. I will tell you the only joy I have found in life: watching the lives of others fall apart. The sweet fantasies that people imagine their existences to be inevitably crack, then shatter to pieces. And I savour the tragedy of each and every downfall because, oh, it _is_ delicious. That one moment, that glorious instant when I see a man, a woman lose all hope. That is the only time I feel truly alive."

He said Simeon's line, a line she'd heard over and over in rehearsal. But he said it with a straight face, a sadistic smile. He said it for himself, not his character.

He was no more the player he'd once been than she was.

They were these people, these so called characters. And they were living their lives on the stage before an audience of seven. Seven friendly faces, faces Primrose had once known well.

From that stage they looked no more than ghosts, figments of her imagination.

"I am Lady Primrose of House Azelhart. And I swear on my ancestors' name, and on my father's blade, I will not lose faith. My faith will be my shield against you!"

She said Primrose's line with conviction, not Primrose's conviction but her own. She would finish this performance. She would finish it. She would…

With her knees wrapped around his chest, Primrose drove her dagger into Simeon's heart again and again and again. There was no pallor left on her face, it was as red as her dress, as soaked as her dagger.

By the time she stood on her shaking legs, the man before her was a mangled mess of the actor he'd once been. Unrecognisable.

Save the sadistic smile that still twisted his face.

And as Primrose turned to the audience, she found it empty.

Every which way she turned she saw only darkness, an overwhelming blackness that enveloped her, swallowed her whole. There was no blood at her ankles, no bodies at her feet. There was no dagger in her hand, no blood smeared across her limbs and face.

There was nothing.

Primrose was nothing.

"O, hark unto the tale of a girl, pure and true, who in her all-too-fleeting life...

...knew misery as no other ever knew."


	75. A Festival to Remember

_This story's something of a very early prequel to A Spectacle in the Stars (17) last year's Bonfire Night story._

* * *

 _Erhardt and Olberic had shared many memories during their time as brothers-in-arms, but the one they both remember most fondly was that of their first Bonfire Night._

* * *

A Festival to Remember

"I'm afraid I cannot join you tonight." Erhardt sighed as Olberic asked him to the night's festivities yet again.

The sky outside was already turning purple and all the other knights in the barracks had already left for the first and only day off this year. Yet still, Olberic and Erhardt remained, wrapping up one last sparring session for the day before Olberic would go and join the others in celebration and Erhardt would make his way to the Black Brotherhood's secret meeting spot at the base of the mountain to give his latest report.

He'd been King Alfred's service for nearly six months now and he still knew so little about the man. No matter how much he tried he just couldn't get him to show his true self, the darkness Erhardt was sure he hid underneath that friendly exterior of his. Instead, his Majesty would simply chuckle and thank Erhardt for his service, insisting that he join the others for their night off as he left the palace. He'd been desperate to find out where he was going, to join him on his journey and carry out a less bloody coup than Werner's plan.

Instead he was still stood next to Olberic long after their liege had left for the day, trying to come up with an excuse that the knight would accept.

"Come now," Olberic smiled as he changed from his ceremonial blue robe into something simpler and more comfortable. "Are you truly so devoted to your training that you will not take even one night off?"

"I..." Erhardt sighed again, wrapping his sword in a towel and stashing them both in his bag for the night. Like Olberic, he'd changed into something a little less ostentatious than his red robe and had tied his hair back. There was no need for the mercenaries to see him in his 'work' clothes after all. "I'm afraid… of fire."

"You are?" Olberic asked in incredulity as Erhardt nodded, looking away not in discomfort but because he didn't want Olberic to catch the lie in his eyes. "I see. In that case, I will not pressure you to join me any further."

"Thank you."

"If, however, you change your mind" he continued, picking up a bottle of Hornburgian white wine and pointing it in his direction. "I will be watching from the training grounds. And you are welcome to join me."

"Are you not headed into town to watch the festivities up close?" Erhardt had expected Olberic to be in the thick of it, right up next to the bonfire as they lit it and the fireworks that would light up the sky in a million different colours.

Olberic shook his head. "Being the his Majesty's right hand is oft times comparable to being the star dancer on the stage in Sunshade. I much prefer to enjoy these kinds of festivities away from the masses."

"Do you not want to greet your adoring fans?" Erhardt teased. He wasn't meant to be these knights friends, he wasn't meant to tease them. But there was something about Olberic's honesty that had drawn him in from day one… That, and he rather hoped that his teasing would be enough to shake his composure and balance so that he might finally win a sparring session against him.

"Not tonight." Olberic shook his head with a little laugh, headed out to the training grounds just outside their bunks with his wine and a spare, threadbare blanket. "Some other festival, mayhaps."

"In that case," Erhardt waved over his shoulder as he left the bunks from the other door, headed out to meet his mercenary gang and give them this month's report. "I will see you in the morning."

"Safe journeys, partner."

There was that word. _'Partner.'_ Olberic called him it so infrequently that it always caught him by surprise, making him freeze to the spot for all of a second before he was finally released from whatever spell that word put him under. The idea that he was Olberic's partner, the King's left hand… It often made him feel physically sick.

Yet he couldn't stop thinking about the knight as he watched the sky get darker and the stars begin to shine.

Erhardt had never seen this festival before. He'd always been either asleep, out on a mission or simply too far from the festivities to the see the man-made stars light up the sky.

And yes, he'd admit that he was more than a little curious.

But he was also not a Hornburgian knight. He was a mercenary, a pawn in Werner's plan to topple the Kingdom. He knew his place, and it wasn't besides the knights. It was besides Werner and his drunken mercenary friends as they celebrated the origins of this tradition – the tale of treason that had almost lead to the death of the entire Hornburg royal family.

 _Almost_ lead to their death. Erhardt had to remind his fellow fighters of that quite a few times that night. They hadn't wiped out the royal family back then and if they spent all their time getting drunk now they never would. Alfred was out there right now, alone and unguarded in some remote corner of the Kingdom. If they moved fast and fanned out they could find him, they could remove him. All without the need of this bloody coup they had planned.

Instead, what were they doing? Drunkenly dancing around a bonfire of their own as they celebrated a plan that hadn't come to fruition.

"Werner!" Erhardt called to his employer as he watched the band – really just a group of four drunk-of-their-arse mercenaries singing old sea shanties out of key – start their third drunken rendition of the same song. Werner turned to the young knight, a smile larger than life lighting his features. "Do you really need me here?"

"Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?" Werner asked, his smile gone, replaced by a leer that seemed to peer into the very depths of his soul.

"Not rather be," Erhardt cleared his throat, watching as the moon started to rise. As soon as she was at her peak, the fireworks would start in town. And Erhardt would rather be watching them than listening to a bunch of drunkards sing out of key. "However, I know the knights will notice my absence tonight. If you have no need of me here, I think mayhap I should join them – to quiet their worry."

Werner was silent for quite a while as he thought about what Erhardt was saying. Perhaps he was trying to find the lie, what Erhardt really wanted to get out of not celebrating with them. Perhaps he was just thinking about the fact that Erhardt said it as a statement, not asked it as a question, and yet still he stood around, waiting for a response.

"If you think it the best way to maintain your cover," he shook his hand dismissively and turned his back. "Then go."

"Thank you, Werner." Erhardt bowed politely at his boss' back before picking up his bag containing only his sword and a bottle of wine and headed back to the barracks.

He had not intention of heading into town to watch the display, not intention of watching the man-made stars with the lesser knights. No, he wanted to watch with one knight in particular. And he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

"Returned so soon?" Olberic shouted at him as he opened the door to the training yard, a little out of breath from running all the way from his secret meeting place at the base of the mountains to the palace training yards at the top. But he'd beaten the moon. She was so close to her peak, huge and bright up here in the clear mountain air. When it was cloudy, these mountains were darker than even the Ratkin caves. But when she was full as she was today, bathing them in her reflected light, it was almost a bright as midday.

"I could not leave you to drink alone," Erhardt smiled as took out his own bottle and settled down next to Olberic – though still rather far from him. "If only out of fear that you would choke on your own vomit should you drink too much."

"That happened one time." Olberic said rather petulantly before laughing. Perhaps he'd already had more to drink than Erhardt had thought… "Still, I am glad you were able to join me. This is always quite the spectacle."

"So I hear." Erhardt muttered, shivering slightly as he drew his knees to his chest and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the sky. Any moment now…

"Have you not see the festivities before?"

"Not that I can remember."

"Then you are in for a treat, my friend!" Olberic exclaimed, looking over at his brother-in-arms just as he shivered. "Are you cold?"

Erhardt shook his head as he shivered again, no trusting his teeth not to chatter should he try to speak.

"Here." Olberic wrapped the threadbare blanket he'd been sitting on around Erhardt's shoulders and came to sit a little closer to him, harmlessly offering him his body heat.

Words of frustration at being coddled died on Erhardt's lips as he accepted his friend's kindness and warmth. "Thank you."

So they waited in silence, their breath coming out like little clouds as they watched the sky, waiting for the festivities to start. The noise from the town that had previously been loud enough for the pair to hear had suddenly gone silent, meaning they could only be waiting in anticipation themselves. And still the suspense mounted as they waited and watched.

"Why did you return?" Olberic suddenly asked, just as Erhardt took a sip of his wine. So taken aback that he'd ask outright, Erhardt spat his wine right back out much to Olberic's concern. "Apologies."

"That's quite alright." Erhardt coughed a couple more times not so much to clear his throat as it was to not talk. Because he didn't have an answer.

Then there was a cheer that seemed to shake the very mountains, a cheer louder almost than life itself, louder certainly than the clashing of blades. Then there was a noise quite unlike any Erhardt had ever heard before: a whistling screech that seemed to twist and turn in on itself and get ever quieter as it rose into oblivion.

"Look!"

Turning his eyes skywards, Erhardt saw the moment that now silent screech transformed into a bang. His eyes wider than perhaps they'd ever been before, Erhardt could only watch in complete astonishment as one small purple speck in the sky turned into a thousand purple ashes that fizzed out into smoke, leaving a trail of their travels so clear in the air.

Before he could catch his breath, regulate the pure, unadulterated joy that covered his features, more and more multicoloured specks stared to appear in the sky.

Some of them screamed up far higher into the air than others, leaving no trail behind their one coloured speck until it exploded into thousands of ashes. Others flew much lower, exploding louder and into a variety of different colours rather than just the one. Then there were those that spun, twisting around and around into the air as their shrieks twisted with them, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet. When those ones exploded, they still spun – their colours twisting around and around much like a whirlpool before they eventually disappeared into smoke.

It was nothing like he'd expected.

He'd heard man-made stars, he'd expected pin pricks that lit up the sky for moments before they faded; nothing could have prepared him for the noise that came with these stars, the colours they emitted as they lit up the sky. The air itself was full of the smell of smoke, the screams of the fireworks and festival goers and the moon herself seemed to shrink away from the festivities, watching with everyone else as science lit up the night.

There was no way he could hide his emotions, his pure, unashamed and almost childlike joy as he watched the display. And Olberic didn't judge him, he'd been the same the first time he'd seen them.

He gave him the space and silence he needed to truly enjoy the display. All the while, he was alternating between watching the display in the sky and the lights that reflected back in Erhardt's eyes. Lit in greens and golds and reds, Erhardt almost looked like a different person as he watched. There was no guard on his face, no worries, no thoughts even. There was a calm, focused gaze as he watched the lights. One that was almost embarrassingly unguarded.

However, it was exactly what Olberic needed to see. Erhardt might not have known why he'd returned, but Olberic did. He'd come back not to watch the fireworks, not to enjoy the presence of his company but to simply be himself.

He might not have known who that was, it might take him a long time to discover it, but Olberic was sure that was why he'd returned. For one night only, Erhardt wanted to be free.

From that year onwards, Olberic was sure to bring an extra blanket with him whenever he set out to watch the festival, certain that Erhardt would always forget and always feel the chill of the night before the display started. And while the only spent a few festivals together before the coup, they always enjoyed those silent days the most.

Because they didn't need to speak, they both knew what they felt. Boyhood joy, a sensation of such spine tingling electricity as the display first started and the stars started to scream, a shiver of such pure excitement as they exploded and the air started to smell not of burning but simply smoke.

But that first festival they watched together? That was the one they'd always remember, the memory that they would each carry in their heart as they went their separate ways many years later.


	76. Healing Hands and Bloodied Sands

_What if Ogen had passed through the Sunlands shortly after the events that unseated Helganish?_

* * *

Healing Hands and Bloodied Sands

Ogen never really had anywhere to call his home nowadays. He simply wandered the world, going wherever his feet took him as he offered his services in exchange for just enough leaves to buy him a tavern meal, an inn bed and to replace the more exotic plants in his satchel. There was no need for him to ask for more leaves, no need for him to skimp on his services in exchange for his cheap price. No, he'd stay and wait until they got better if he truly believed they were worth saving.

But there was one occasion shortly before he met Alfyn that was different than the rest. One occasion when he offered his services for no coin, no recognition. One occasion when he didn't ask if they were worthy of being saved and simply decided on his own.

Because he hadn't been able to ask. And because he didn't want to stick around to find out he'd saved a murderer again.

Passing through the Sunland sands on his way to the Riverlands in search of a waterblooms, Ogen had come on quite the sight near the cliffs not far from the Sunshade gates.

Three heavily armoured men lay face down in the sands, already long dead by the look of it. At the head of the three men, a larger, more grandly dressed man had been brutally stabbed, already as dead as the rest of them. And not far from all of them, a young woman lay on her side, blood still pooling in the sand besides her breast.

Whatever had happened here, Ogen didn't know – most likely would never know. Really, there was no reason for him to do anything more than head into town and let the watchman know there was a group of bodies not far from the gates.

Instead, Ogen noticed that the woman was still bleeding out. That she was still alive.

He didn't know her story; for all he knew she was the murderer, felled by the large man just as she landed the finishing blow. However, there was something about the scene that told him otherwise, told him that she was just as much a victim here as the rest of them. That she was the first victim, the only one who hadn't tried to fight someone else.

Every instinct in his body that he'd honed this past decade screamed at him to move on, to not give her another glance. He couldn't ask her his usual questions, he couldn't know her life was worth saving. But…

 _"I saw someone in a bind and I helped them out, simple as that."_

"Damn you, Graham." Ogen muttered as he approached the woman dressed in blue, gently turning her over to get a look at her wound, to feel for her pulse.

A lifetime ago now, he'd seen a woman in a similar state to this. And he'd not been able to save her.

He wasn't going to let that happen again today.

For Melyssa, for Graham… For the man he'd once been, Ogen would do everything he could to bring this young dancer back from the brink.

So he mixed his tonics, his salves and his potions as he pulled a roll of bandages from his satchel and started to wrap them around her wound, applying as much delicate pressure as he could to stop the bleeding. He'd have to act fast – she was already turning cold.

As quickly as he could mix them, Ogen was administering his tonics to the woman, supplementing her weakening life force with his own healing magic as he mixed his concoctions. The woman, whoever she was, was strong willed at least. She wasn't ready to give up on life anymore than he was ready to give up on her.

Still, he didn't know her. He couldn't afford to stick around and wait until she was well enough to open her eyes and share her story. More than that, he didn't _want_ to. If he left as soon as she was stable in the care of the town's apothecary, he'd never have to know if he'd saved an unworthy life.

Gently prising her lips open, Ogen poured his revitalising tonic down her throat, praying to Dohter that she swallow. And when she did, when she took that one life giving gulp, Ogen let out a such a sigh of relief that he laughed.

It had long time since he last saved a life so clearly lost. It had been too long a time since he'd felt such relief that a patient had recovered.

And he didn't know her, couldn't know her.

Content that she was alive, that her wound was now starting to close itself, Ogen rose to his feet and set his satchel. Conscience clear, he could move on now – to the next town and village full of people in need of his help. In theory, he could leave her there. He'd healed her enough that she'd be awake in the hour, ready to move again in two.

 _"Ogen, look at your hands."_

Caked in blood and grains of sand, his hands looked rather worse than usual. But Graham, as always, had point. They were healing hands, hands that wouldn't leave someone to die in the desert.

Sighing in frustration, Ogen knelt and picked the dancer up, carrying her in his arms to the Sunshade gates and someone who could offer her more help than he could. Because he wouldn't do more for her without knowing who she was. And the idea that she could be the killer of those men…

He couldn't chance it, he couldn't bring himself to do more for her when that was a possibility.

"You." Ogen said to the gatekeeper as he passed him, watching a trio of dancers came running from the tavern at the back of town towards him. "There's four bodies out there. And this woman needs medical assistance."

"Oh my-!" One of the dancers screeched as the ran ahead of her slightly faint looking friends. "Yusufa!"

"Is there an apothecary nearby?" Ogen asked simply, hoping that – in their horror – the women wouldn't notice that he was an apothecary himself.

"Y-yes! In the dorms!" The dancer nodded furiously, pointing up the street to the dancers dorms as one of the dancer's guards came running.

"By the Gods, Yusufa!" He exclaimed, taking her from Ogen's arms without him even having to ask. Immediately, the guard turned his back to him and ran to the dorms, the other dancers not far behind him.

He could have stayed, could have advised and explained what he'd seen in the sands not far from the gates.

Instead, Ogen turned around and disappeared back into them, already headed to his next destination and whomever needed healing within it. He thought he'd never know who Yusufa was or what had really happened in those desert sands. But fate had a funny way of forcing people into Ogen's path. For when he met Alfyn, he also met those he travelled with. He met another Sunland dancer who told him the story over drinks.

Evidentally, Yusufa had been worth saving after all.


	77. Just a Little Lie

_Back again! Apologies for the break but there was really no way I could have gotten any writing done last week (seriously, don't work nine 6-15 hour days in a row without a day off). However, to compensate for the break, there will be 6 stories this month!_

 _And there really is no better way to get back into Travel On (for me at least) than the next stupid installment in the Heels saga. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Cyrus really will go to any length to hide his height… Heels 3_

* * *

Just a Little Lie

They'd been travelling together nearly a year now, winding their way through this town or the other village as they hunted down that which they sought: answers to mysteries, lost friends or books or jewels, revenge…

The smallest boy.

And by the Gods, Cyrus had aged more in this last year than he had in any before – and he'd had his fair share of near misses with death. The time he'd been so caught up in a book that he'd not noticed the library was on fire; that other time when he and Odette had been investigating an old tomb and he'd nearly fallen down a dusty old well; the time he'd nearly been killed by his colleague and trapped in a cellar by his headmaster… Well, those last two had taken place this year but still.

None of those near misses had made him half as stressed as travelling around Orsterra with Therion and his desperate desire to prove him short.

He could never be alone with him and one other traveller, certain that the little thief would work his silver tongue and change the firmly made up minds of those they travelled with. And while no one suspected him just yet – or rather no one called him short just yet – seeds of doubt were starting to fester in their minds.

Cyrus saw the way H'aanit looked at him out the corner of her eye, the way Linde sniffed at his feet sometimes; he wasn't blind to the fact that Olberic had towered behind him once or twice before going to stand behind Therion as if to compare. Alfyn and Ophilia had asked about the state of his feet once or twice, seemingly concerned since they'd been doing so much walking on such dangerous terrain, but Cyrus knew. They wanted to see him shoeless. Primrose had even stood before them barefoot once, as if trying to prove her height without her heeled sandals and encourage Cyrus to do the same.

But he couldn't. He couldn't risk it.

By now it was about more than just his foolhardy pride, this had gone on too long. What kind of name would Tressa call him when she found out? Would they tell his students, the new headmaster, the Flatland King?!

Oh it was _torture_!

And Therion was enjoying every moment of it.

"So, how much longer until you break?" He asked Cyrus as the group made their way into the next town late at night, beelining to the inn.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Therion." The scholar smiled at him, an exhausted, half-hiding-a-yawn grin. "I am quite put together."

"Yeah right." Therion scoffed. "You could break at any minute."

"Is that a threat?"

"It will be soon, I'm getting tired of this whole debacle."

"You could always drop it, you know."

"Not _that_ tired." Therion yawned, stretching his arms over his head as the group made their way into the inn. Even with his arms stretched high over his head, Therion couldn't reach the top of the doorway, Tressa snickered to herself.

"Renewed determination?" Cyrus whispered as the thief glared back at her.

"I'm taking you down." He snarled in response.

"Good luck with that," Cyrus stretched himself, making something of a show of how much taller he was. "I rather enjoy the view from up here, you know."

Moments later, he was doubled over Therion's fist in his stomach, winded from a punch to the gut. "Oof!"

"What in the-" Primrose turned slightly away from the innkeeper to look behind her at the thief holding the scholar in a headlock. They both just smiled and gave her a little wave. With the bridge of her nose pinched between her thumb and forefinger, Primrose turned back to the innkeeper, "I know you don't have that many beds to spare, but is there any chance that we can be as far from those two as possible?"

"Is this how you see the world?" Cyrus rasped, clawing at Therion's arm around his head as he tried to free himself.

"I am going to kill you." He whispered, trying to maintain some semblance of composure as the rest of their group watched their interaction.

"And lose such an easy person for you to bully? Come now, Small Boy, don't be foolish."

"Mighten I maken a request?" H'aanit asked the innkeeper, looking from the scholar and thief to front desk and back. "I do not supposen that thou hast a room juste for the paire? I woulde haten to seen them separated."

"Oh, that's not necessary-"

"Yeah, we'd like a shared room." Therion interrupted Cyrus, releasing him from his headlock just enough that his arm was still wrapped possessively around his shoulder. "Hate to leave this one alone."

"Alfyn," H'aanit turned to the fuming apothecary. "Mayhaps thou woulde liken to payen for their room withe the leaves thou owens me?"

Clearly frustrated, Alfyn paid for Cyrus and Therion's shared room with the leaves he'd lost to H'aanit in their bet.

"I'm going to steal your shoes tonight." Therion whispered – as threateningly as one can whisper about stealing shoes – in Cyrus' ear as he caught the keys to their room in midair, leading Cyrus to their room with his arm still firmly wrapped around his shoulder.

"You do know about the exact nature of H'aanit's bet with Alfyn, don't you?" Cyrus asked, wondering why he wasn't more worked up about this turn of events.

"H'aanit had a bet with Alfyn?"

"You- Why else would she make him pay for our room?" Incredulously, Cyrus looked at Therion. He'd be the first to admit he was a little oblivious from time to time but… Hadn't Therion been in the know when they first made the bet? Had he truly forgotten?

"Thought it was because she realised I could finally prove you're short if we share a room." Therion said, pulling Cyrus back into a headlock as he unlocked the door.

"No, they made a bet on-" Cyrus stopped himself short. Therion had forgotten about their bet. The bet that Cyrus would stay hidden in the closet until after they finished travelling together.

It was sneaky, underhanded even, but if Cyrus played his cards right… Tonight – or rather tomorrow morning at the breakfast table – he'd be able to stop those seeds of height based doubt in everyone's heads and replace them with an image that they perhaps wouldn't want to picture.

"A bet on whether I can prove you're short?" Therion asked, smugly releasing the scholar as the door closed behind them, closing them into a room with one desk and one double bed.

"I suppose you are indeed correct." Cyrus sighed, unclasping his cloak and wrapping it on the back of the desk chair. "I will have to sleep eventually, after all. And with the two of us sharing both a room and a bed… Well, there is little chance that I can get away with you _not_ stealing my shoes!"

"Exactly." Therion yawned, taking off his own shoes, scarf and poncho as he settled on the bed, still not seeing what Cyrus was getting at. "Best watch yourself, scholar, I'm going to prove you're short. Just. You. Wat...ch..."

It was quite shocking just how quickly Therion could fall asleep sometimes. Still, it had been a long day, a long week… A long almost year.

But Cyrus could see the end now. The question was, was he truly so desperate to hide his height that he would pretend to be in a relationship with Therion?

It wasn't like the thief was unattractive, young and uneducated as he was. He had a sharp wit and the kind of street-smarts that Cyrus had never learnt, having lived his whole life in front of a blackboard. And, yes, he had to admit to himself that the thief's desperation to prove someone else shorter than him was quite charming…

Cyrus shook his head. It was all just a rouse, another lie to spin to hide his own height.

 _Is this really worth all the fuss?_ Cyrus couldn't help but wonder as he removed his heels and placed them next to the desk chair, settling in for a night of study once again since Therion was on the bed. _Would it not just be easier to admit that I'm a little shorter than I appear?_

The idea of Tressa teasing him for however long their journey lasted after this made him shudder. The girl could be ruthless.

"Well." Cyrus whispered to himself as he covered Therion in a blanket before grabbing his tome for the night. "I might as well see where this lie leads."

It wasn't long before Cyrus fell asleep on top of his tome, comfortably cosied up in his desk chair. How long he slept, he didn't know, however when he woke, he did so with a start as the door slammed, shocked to see the sun just barely peaking through the closed curtains but not to find his heels missing.

Smiling to himself as he grabbed Therion's scarf from the bed – not that surprised to see he'd forgotten it in his rush to prove that Cyrus wore high heels to the others – he wrapped himself up in a slightly bedraggled fashion and pulled on Therion's flats, hurrying down the corridor to the dinning hall and their dining companions.

"See! See!" He could hear Therion before he saw him, his heels clattering on the tiled floor as he showed them off to the others. "I told you he wore heels!"

"What's your point, Therion?" Primrose yawned as Cyrus rounded the corner into the hall of unimpressed travellers. "That your feet are really small in your boyfriend's shoes?"

"My what?" Therion asked at the same time as Tressa started laughing, noticing just how small Therion's feet were in Cyrus' shoes.

"Oh my Gods, you have _tiny_ feet!" She exclaimed as Cyrus came to stand next to him, wrapping his arm around Therion's shoulder and holding him close – as if trying to prove that, even in Therion's tiny flats, he was still taller than the thief in heels.

"I did think these felt a little tight." Cyrus yawned, flexing his toes. "Can I have mine back now, dear?"

"Dea…?"

"Dammit, Professor!" Alfyn exclaimed as H'aanit hooted in excitement, finally revealed to be the winner of the bet. "Couldn'ta stayed hidden for a little longer, could ya?"

"Do not make wagers you think you might lose," Olberic smiled on Alfyn. "It is a lesson not cheaply learnt."

"Perhaps the two of you should go and get your shoes on straight before Tressa wakes the whole inn with her laughter." Ophilia suggested, watching as Tressa rocked back in her chair, her hands firmly clutching her stomach.

"Come on, Therion," Cyrus pulled him away by the shoulder, holding him close as they left.

"How are you so desperate to hide your height?" Therion whispered as they made their way back to their shared room.

"Concede, and we won't have to continue this charade." Cyrus said simply, finally having the upper-hand for once. ...Or so he thought.

"Never." Therion shook his head before squirming free of Cyrus' grip and kissing his cheek. "I'll expose the truth… Honey."

"Please, Therion," Cyrus sighed, regretting this new turn immediately as they returned to their room and their newest battle of pride. "No pet names."


	78. A Life Worth Taking

_There's going to be two of these - I still don't really know what to call them, alternative to tragedy? - stories in a row since I missed the one in November. The next one will be posted on Wednesday evening (UK) so there's still time for the other story I missed in November next week and the two holiday ones at the end of December._

 _Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

 _One must always make amends for their mistakes, even if it requires them taking a life._

* * *

A Life Worth Taking

"None of yer potions or bandages will patch ye up when I'm done with ye!" A look of unshakable fury on his face, Miguel held a spear in either hand as he ran at Alfyn, screaming so loud it frightened the local, monstrous fauna away. Screaming so loud it shook Alfyn to his very core as he parried the first spear and dodged to the side of the second.

Not much of a fighter, Alfyn knew he was outmatched against a lying, murderous thief, a man who had lied about everything but being a mercenary who'd killed over a hundred soldiers. He also knew this was all his fault. If only he'd listened to Ogen, if only he hadn't tried to save the life of one who – by all accounts but Miguel's own – didn't deserve to live any longer in the first place.

Now he was going to have to make things right. And quick, if he wanted any chance of saving young Tim.

Still, he was a healer, a man of potions not weapons. He stood no chance against Miguel as he raised one spear high and held another low, one to knock Alfyn's feet out from under him and another to skewer him as he fell. He could try to run, to dodge to the side with split second accuracy. Or he could concede, admit that he'd made one mistake too many, that he'd damned this entire town and practically killed a boy.

"Heh, yer quick, aint ye?" Miguel laughed, watching as Alfyn held his axe out protectively in front of him. "Still, yer no match fer-"

Suddenly the air was full of a bright, bright powdery light, a concoction that seeped right through Miguel's bandages and into his wounds.

"What the-" The fighter sneezed, trying to shake the powder off. "Did ye do this?!"

Alfyn had to admit, it looked like one of his concoctions… But, he hadn't made it, much less thrown it towards Miguel.

Before he could answer, a potion bottle flew from behind him, landing square in Miguel's face. Glass broke over his nose, piercing into his eyes as the gelatinous, black liquid in the bottle ran freely across his face, solidifying as it entered the cuts from the glass. Not watching as Miguel screamed in agony, dropping both his spears as he clawed at the liquid potion, Alfyn turned in his place and watched as Ogen pulled another bottle from his satchel.

"Ogen!" Alfyn exclaimed in both relief and confusion. There had been no reason for him to come, no reason for him protect him. In fact, if he was following his own creed, he should have left Alfyn to die – he'd let a man live who shouldn't have, after all. So why was he here? "Why are you-"

"Shut up and grab the spears." Ogen said seriously, working apothecarial magic to freeze the new potion in his hand before he threw it in Miguel's direction.

With no room for arguments nor questions in his tone, Alfyn followed his orders, immediately grabbing the dropped spears as Miguel spat out some of the previous potion.

"Feh. Fightin' dirty, are ye?" He raised his fists, still not beaten down. "I can beat the both o' ye without me spears, yer jus' 'pothecaries, after all."

Ogen said nothing as he threw the next potion in his direction. Since Miguel was watching as Ogen threw the frozen bottle, it should have been easy enough for him to avoid it. Instead, however, he went to kick it back at them and the minute his foot made contact with the icy bottle, it froze itself. Then, as the ice thawed and the bottle broke over his foot, a liquid fire started to climb up his frostbitten leg.

Screaming, Miguel fell to the floor, clutching at his leg as he struggled to put the fire out.

"How did you learn-" Alfyn asked, shocked that an apothecary would use their talents to make such dangerous, deadly potions, scared of what the older man by his side would do if he deemed him not worthy of living any longer.

"Fix your mistake, Alfyn." Ogen ordered, taking Miguel's spears from him and nodding in the direction of the burning man.

"I-I..." Clutching his axe tight in his hand, Alfyn knew he was right. He'd made the mistake, he'd saved Miguel's life and it was up to him to fix it. But he'd never killed a man, never taken a life.

"The boy's dying, Alfyn. Are you going to stand by and let that happen?"

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed as he braced himself, Alfyn let out a single breath as he raised his head once again. Miguel couldn't be allowed to live a second longer.

"S-save me, Alfyn!" He pleaded as the apothecary raised his axe. "I-I got four-three! Mouths t' feed! I-I got more gold than ye'll ever see! I-I!"

Finally he was silent, a single blow to the chest from Alfyn's axe severing the ties to this world that he'd spent all day trying to reconnect. A stark reminder for the apothecary that, no matter how much he laboured, how hard he tried to heal, life could be taken far quicker than it could be given.

With not a second more to waste on the dead and gone, Alfyn immediately turned to the dying boy, doing all that he could to make him comfortable as he started to mix salves.

"Ogen." Alfyn called to the other apothecary as he stared to leave the clearing. "Why did you come?"

"The boy didn't deserve to die because of a novice's mistake." He said simply, not callous nor rude, just stating a fact. "I came to make sure he lived."

"And me?" Alfyn couldn't help but ask. Did he deserve to live, to continue to heal now that his hands were stained red? Did he deserve to choose who should live and who should die when the last time he'd made that decision a murderer had almost struck again? "If you'd happened upon me dyin' here, would you've healed me? Is my life worth savin'?"

Ogen was silent for a moment, watching as Alfyn worked as hard as he could to save the boy from slipping even deeper into the darkness. "...Only time will tell."

Alfyn sighed as Ogen started to walk away, another vague answer left to eat at his spirit as he tried to figure out what was next for him, whether he should stay on this path or move to another. Another thought to distract him as he tried his damnedest to save the life of the innocent boy before him.


	79. A Shared Story

_A dragon might well be fiercer than any monster she'd ever fought before, but H'aanit wasn't alone as she fought it._

* * *

A Shared Story

Nowadays, one had a higher chance of being struck by lightning than they had encountering a dragon. Still, there were said to be a few left wandering this world, wreaking havoc and devouring any human who came too close.

Hence why H'aanit had always thought her Master's story of how he killed the Clifflands' dragon rather far-fetched. Yet he'd always said it with such conviction, even as the tale got twisted and the descriptions more graphic. He'd always stuck to his story, even when young H'aanit had openly expressed her doubt.

When she saw the beast in front of her in the Frostland forest, protecting the herb she needed to recover Z'aanta from his petrified state… There was only one person in her mind that she wanted to tell the tale to, only one person she knew would listen to her every rendition, each more fantastic than the last – she was sure.

As the dragon let out a mighty roar, H'aanit swore to her Master that she would tell him this tale, time and time again until he was as sick as hearing it as she was of hearing his. With Linde crouched like a coiled spring by her side, H'aanit raised her bow and let out a mighty battle cry as she nocked an arrow straight into the beast's wing.

Startled into immediate pain, the dragon roared again, flapping both its wings as it tried to free the arrow from its skin, whipping up a wind so fierce that it sent Linde flying back into the forest.

"Linde!" H'aanit shouted after her companion, her attention momentarily elsewhere as the dragon continued to roar and thrash. With the gales only growing in strength as she was distracted, H'aanit soon found that she too was sent flying back into the trees.

Only her back didn't hit bark as she struggled against the dragon-made wind. Much to her surprise, she hit a rather human shaped object, knocking them both over as the dragon roared once again.

"Alaic?!" H'aanit exclaimed in incredulity as she pushed herself off the man, more shocked to see him than she had been to see the dragon… Almost. "What bringens thou-"

"Silence." Alaic covered her mouth with his hand, moving into a crouch next to her as he scanned the sky, listening closely for the beast. "Don't disturb it."

"Thou knewn there wast a dragon inst the woods?" H'aanit whispered in accusation as she readied another arrow, half an eye open for Linde as she scanned the trees.

"...Yes." Alaic admitted as he twisted a throwing dagger in his hand, clearly tortured by the fact that he hadn't mentioned the beast before. Especially since it was now roaring rather close to them. "Susanna and I thought it would have migrated south by now and you'd be able to get the herbs easily."

"Well… It hast not."

"Well, I can see that now, H'aanit." Snapped he in response, loud enough to stop the dragon's cries as it located its prey. Swearing under his breath, Alaic pulled H'aanit behind a tree with him as the beast made a clumsy landing. "Get the herbs, I'll hold it off."

"And leaven thee alone to facen the beast and ben eaten or slay it, tellen the tale of thy triumph?" H'aanit straightened her bow, eyes scanning the horizon for another wing. "Never."

"H'aanit, we can't-!" Before Alaic could finish his thought, H'aanit let her arrow loose once again, piercing the beast's other wing and grounding it.

"There. It cannot fly." Satisfied with herself – and too wrapped up in the idea that her Master had slain one of these monsters to admit that this quarry was perhaps too big to take on – H'aanit swapped her bow for her axe as she started to sneak towards the screaming dragon. "Art thou coming?"

Rendered silent by her impressive display – the only person he'd ever thought could take on a dragon was Master Z'aanta, or perhaps Susanna in her youth – Alaic could only look at the woman in dumbstruck admiration as she moved in for the next attack. "I'd only slow you down."

"Nonsense." H'aanit chuckled under her breath in response. "Two weapons art betteren than one. And since I doe not knowen where Linde hast disappeared to..."

The dragon roared once again, knocking branches off of trees as it whipped its tail around in the snow, searching for the hunter who had already grounded it. There was nowhere for it to escape anymore, the trails between the trees were too small, its only choice was to face those who hunted it head on.

Still, it couldn't exactly do that when the pair came at it from its tail side, Alaic holding the thrashing tail down with all his might as H'aanit charged up it screaming, her axe raised high to strike the beast in the skull.

Thrashing wildly, the dragon tried not only to shake the man off its tail but also H'aanit from its neck as it shook it back and forth, determined to be rid of the pest.

"H'aanit!" Alaic screamed her name in fear as she lost her footing and fell, her axe falling from her hand as she gripped onto the dragon's neck for dear life. Nearly 15 feet in the air, even a fall from this height into the snow could prove fatal, or at least end her profession as a hunter. So she clung on as tight as she could, watching as Alaic threw daggers at the dragon in what only worked to make it twist its neck even more.

Just as H'aanit's strength was starting to give out, just as she started to consign herself to this fate, there came a mighty growl from the woods. A growl H'aanit recognised almost better than she recognised her Master's voice.

"Linde!"

Weaving through the trees like she'd grown up in them, running faster than a bat flew out of a cave, Linde came to her mistress' aid once again as she launched herself into the base of the dragon's long neck, forcing it to the ground. Thrashing its head in the snow in determination to stay alive, Alaic rushed over to pin it down, to hold the beast steady as H'aanit finished it off.

Recovering her axe, H'aanit moved to stand over the beast, to look it in its eyes and read just what it was.

Aside from being quite obviously (and rightly) scared, there was also an intelligence behind those eyes, an intelligence that H'aanit knew had once allowed it to communicate with people like her and Z'aanta. However, decades, centuries even, away from humans had worn that intelligence thin, had made it violent, desperate for the thrill of the hunt, the blood of humans to spatter onto its face not for sustenance but for sport.

It was a monster that could not be allowed to dominate the food chain, yet H'aanit couldn't help but feel pity when it closed its eyes as she brought her axe down.

With the clang of her axe hitting bone echoing through out the snowy woods, a silence came over the trio. Then came the pattering of paws as wolves, leopards and other predators approached, sniffing at the blood filled air.

After the next snowfall, the dragon would be all but forgotten, buried deep beneath the next blanket of snow as one of these predators took its place as the top of the food chain. Such was the nature of life, H'aanit explained to Alaic as they recovered the herb-of-grace and returned to Stillsnow. One day, they too would become food for the soil and beasts. Today, however they were victorious.

Today, they had earned an improbable tale of their own.


	80. The Solitary Scholar

_Odette had always felt she was only called upon when she was needed, forgotten about when she wasn't..._

* * *

The Solitary Scholar

This last year aside, Quarrycrest was the perfect quiet place for Odette base herself.

Not only was it secluded and far enough away from Atlasdam that no scholars would come looking for her unless they needed something, but it was also a bustling hub of trade thanks to the goldmines on the northern side of town, meaning that tome she was looking for could be easily procured by finding the right travelling merchant. She didn't have all that much need to leave the town anymore, some days she didn't even have all that much need to leave her home, but that didn't stop her travelling when wanderlust bit her.

Since she'd left the Academy, she reckoned she'd visited all the towns in Orsterra at least once, and the bigger ones quite a few more times than that, but none suited her more than Quarrycrest. Yes, sometimes the locals liked to call on her scholarly talents to help them during their times of need and yes, sometimes they got in the way of what she was in the middle of researching to do just that, but they also gave her all sort of wonderful things as thank yous for her help – from books to pastries, they were always there to repay her kindness.

Her life away from the structure and regime of studying around academics had been lovely; she'd seen so much, she'd discovered so much, she'd gotten rid of that constant lingering migraine…

Then freaking Cyrus Albright walked back into her life. Then her migraine returned.

It wasn't so much that she disliked Cyrus, in fact she liked him quite a lot. He was a fantastic academic, able to see to the truth of things far quicker than most with a moral compass that never strayed from what he thought was the right thing to do. It was just that, well, in all their years studying alongside one another at the Academy, she'd had to keep a constant eye on him to make sure he didn't get himself in trouble with his students for saying something he thought was merely a statement of fact, not a glowing compliment.

When he was around, Odette felt that she had to keep a constant eye on him to make sure he didn't do anything foolish. In a lot of respects, it was like she was having to take care of a hyperactive puppy.

And while he'd proven useful during his time in the Clifflands, it had taken a lot of time for Odette to explain to the girl he saved that he wasn't in love with her, that that was just the way he was. And when he'd disappeared yet again, Odette had felt something… missing.

There he was, a man who'd lost his job thanks to his kind words – just like she thought he would – and yet he seemed far happier travelling the world with his new friends than he ever had at the Academy. Or, no, perhaps it wasn't happier, but freer. Able to study anything he wished as he circled the continent over and over again.

Though she couldn't quite explain why, Odette was jealous. Yes, she could travel anytime she wanted, study anything she wanted – nothing was holding her down after all – but there was something different in how she would have done it. She would have travelled alone, unlike Cyrus who travelled with friends, companions. Unlike Cyrus, who would always feel like he was relied on, needed by the rest of his group.

Perhaps that was it, Odette didn't feel needed anymore. And she had no idea what to do what that realisation.

Thankfully, not long after she'd made that realisation, did Cyrus appear at her door once again.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon," Odette confessed when she opened the door, a little surprised to find him all alone. "What brings you back?"

"Well," Cyrus looked around him, a little jittery and nervous – she'd never seen him like that before. "I beg your pardon, but might I be able to come inside?"

"That serious, eh?" Odette asked, opening the door wide as she invited him inside her little house once again.

"Yes. However, I am also being incessantly trailed by the young lady I saved from Gideon."

Odette laughed uproariously.

"Please, Odette," Cyrus groaned, his head in his hands. "I know, I must watch what I say to these young women. However, I have-"

"I'm glad to see you've finally gotten that through your thick skull!" Odette clapped him on the shoulder, he really had grown a lot since she last saw him. Those he travelled with must have helped a lot with that.

"Odette, please, I have something important-"

"Not interested." Odette shook her head. "Whatever trouble you and that little gang of yours get yourself into is none of my business."

"Even if it involves the resting place of the Galdera?"

 _That_ peaked her curiosity. In complete silence, she listened closely as Cyrus explained what he'd found on his search for _From the Far Reaches of Hell,_ the situation that he and his friends were now in as they searched for their lost travelling companion. As he explained that he and the others would be going to the literal Gate to Hell in their search to save him.

"Let me get this straight." Odette said as he finished explaining, her forehead once again in her hand as she tried to massage away another Cyrus migraine. "You're all going to try and rescue a kid from the Dark God Himself? And you want my help?"

"I suppose that is the short of it, yes." Cyrus nodded, chuckling slightly to himself. "I know it is a lot to ask-"

"It's _a lot_ to ask." Odette emphasised.

"Yes, well," Cyrus cleared his throat. "I thought you might be interested in coming all the same. To see history be made with your own eyes."

"What kind of history are you going to be making, Cyrus?"

"Either we save Kit and stop the resurrection of Galdera, or we don't and start the beginning of the end."

"Well, when you put it like that..." Odette said with heavy sarcasm that was once again lost on Cyrus.

"Excellent! I'll go tell the others-"

"Cyrus, no." Odette sighed as she looked at him. In so many respects he was now far smarter than he was before, yet when it came to human interactions… "I don't think I can come."

"I see." Cyrus sighed and stood, folding his cloak around him as he did. "I had expected you to decline, this is a far-fetched, suicide mission after all. If we survive, however, I'll make sure to come back and give you a full recounting of all the knowledge I gain. I suspect I will see things in there that explain and expand upon the history of Orsterra as we know it."

"I suspect the same." Odette confessed as she turned in her chair, watching as Cyrus opened the door. "Cyrus? Why did you ask me to come?"

She'd suspected him to say it was because they needed her there, another pair of hands to fight a God. She'd suspected him to say it was because he needed her to be his idea board as they looked at all the glyphs behind the Gate. She hadn't expected his answer.

"Why? Because I want you there, my dear!" He smiled at her. "You are one of the greatest scholars I have ever met, if anyone can make sense of what we see in there it is you!"

"I see." Her chin in her hand, Odette smiled to herself. It was a want for her to be there, not a need. They could manage without her, she knew that now. But for them to want her there, to see what they saw and help them understand how to fight it, how to make sense of it… "I've got a few loose ends to tie up, can we leave tomorrow morning?"

Cyrus' answering smile was far wider and brighter than she'd ever seen it before. "Of course, Odette! I suggest bringing something to wear that you won't mind dying in."


	81. Celebrations in Clearbrook

_Early second upload this week because I'm not going to be around much during the week itself. Have a lovely festive season everyone!_

* * *

 _Alfyn's determined to help Ogen celebrate Bifelgan's day once again._

* * *

Celebrations in Clearbrook

Bifelgan's day was a rather simple holiday when one got to the heart of it. It was a day of giving, of trading and showing ones friends just how much one cared as they brought them goods and gifts that no one else would have thought to give them.

In Clearbrook, the day was celebrated a little differently. The entire town would get together on the frozen riverbank and exchange gifts with one another, each only gifting one another person a present and each receiving only one of their own, all based on who had pulled their name out of a hat at the start of the month. With gifts exchanged, the entire town would settle in to a grand feast together, sharing stories of what they'd achieved this past year, of what they hoped to achieve next.

It was quite the close knit group this village, they each treated each other like family, they'd all known one another for what – in some people's opinion – felt like far too long.

So Ogen felt more than a little uncomfortable when Alfyn invited him to the festivities.

"Really?" Alfyn asked in shock when Ogen refused his invitiation. "I thought you said you had nowhere to go?"

"I don't." Ogen shook his head, still trying to figure out how Alfyn had managed to track him down in Northreach after they parted ways. "But I'd rather stay here alone than impose on a village's celebrations."

"You wouldn't be imposin' at all!" Alfyn reassured him, linking his arm through the older man's as he exclaimed in protest. "Come on, I think it'd do you the worlda good to celebrate with people!"

"Alfyn..." Ogen sighed his name again. Considering he'd only met the lad a few months ago, Ogen had gotten rather good at sighing his name like an exasperated father in that time. "Please..."

"Nope!" Not taking no for an answer – as always – Alfyn dragged Ogen out of the tavern in Northreach all the way down to Clearbrook. "We're celebratin' together!"

"Alfyn..."

No matter what he said in protest, Ogen couldn't change Alfyn's mind. No matter how much he tried to run from him, he never got very far before Alfyn tracked him down again. In the end, Ogen just gave up and consigned himself to 'enjoying' the festivities in Clearbrook.

The strangest thing was, he did actually quite enjoy himself once the initial awkwardness had passed.

An outsider coming to a small village's celebrations was always going to feel a little uncomfortable, but to the credit of the people of Clearbrook, they didn't ask Ogen too many questions after the initial barrage of "Why are you celebrating here? How do you know Alfyn? Didn't you have any where else to go?" Instead, they simply apologised that they didn't have a gift for him – or Alfyn since they didn't know if he'd be returning home for the holiday this year – and invited him to eat as much of the feast as he felt he could.

And, as much as he loathed to admit it, that meal was perhaps the best meal he'd had since he'd set out travelling all those years ago. However, the conversation they had over the meal was perhaps even more amazing.

Since very few people ever left the village for more than a little foraging excursion, the people were all rather sheltered and unaware of the world at large. So, when Zeph asked Alfyn to tell some stories of his journeys this past year, all the villagers hung on his every word, eating up his stories far quicker than they did the food. While Alfyn was in his element as he told his tales with a giant smile, when Ogen was called upon to do the same, he found it far more challenging.

It wasn't only the act of public speaking that he found challenging but also striking the balance between which tales of his he could tell without having to go into too much detail about his past. In the end, he settled on the tale of his last Bifelgan's day celebration some three years ago in a small seaside town. It hadn't been much of a celebration, rather it was more like the traders of the town invited him simply so that they could repay the kindness that he'd expressed when he healed them.

Still, it had been the first time he'd celebrated the day with anyone since Melyssa's passing and the simple act of eating seafood for the feast was so different from anything he and his wife had ever done together that it barely even felt like Bifelgan's day at all. In fact, halfway through telling the story of it, Ogen realised it wasn't that interesting of a tale to tell in the first place. Regardless, the villagers found it fascinating, many of them hadn't eaten saltwater fish before and were too caught up in his explanation of what they looked like to realise that it wasn't an interesting story.

The festivities continued after the meal. While many of the older people started to head home after the feast, the younger villagers hung about, dancing and giggling as they made promises to one another about what the year ahead would bring.

Ogen decided to leave that sort of thing to the young people, excusing himself after people started to leave and thanking Alfyn for inviting him as he made his way back to his inn room for the night. Though the meal – and to a lesser degree, the celebrations – had been wonderful, they left Ogen with a slightly bitter taste in his mouth.

Celebrating this day with anyone but his wife had always left him feeling slightly wrong. But then, she wasn't around for him to celebrate with anymore. And he knew very well that she would have wanted him to enjoy himself wherever he found himself celebrating the day.

And yet, something about doing just that felt… _wrong_.

Lost in thoughts, once again, of Melyssa, Ogen almost missed Alfyn's knocking on his inn door.

"What do you want now, Alfyn?" Ogen asked somewhat ungraciously as he opened the door and saw the lad there again.

"I never got to give you my gift." He smiled, though it wasn't that same bright, beaming grin that Ogen had seen on his face all night. No, it was more subdued, sombre even as he produced a small, wrapped box from behind his back.

"You didn't have to… I didn't get you anything." Ogen mumbled in thanks as he took the box.

"No worries!" Alfyn chuckled, though that look on his face was still a little melancholy. "I didn't expect you would. I just, I thought you'd like this."

A little confused, Ogen opened the box and looked at the small vial inside. Pulling it out and holding it up to the candle light, Ogen could see that its contents was not medicinal but rather a small collection of seeds. And the pressed petal tied to the cork of the vial was one recognised at a glance.

"Mind-Me-Always seeds..." Tears standing so clearly in his eyes as he looked at the lad, the words that came out of his mouth were once again not a thank you. "Alfyn, where in the world did you-?"

"Tressa found some for me." He answered before he could even ask, taking a deep breath before he spoke again. "I suspected you always spent the holidays with your wife, which is why you don't celebrate them anymore. But, well, I didn't want you to be lonely!"

Ogen was left quite utterly speechless by Alfyn's kindness. In fact, so speechless was he that the only way he could think to thank the young apothecary was to bring him in for a hug.

"Well shucks!" Alfyn laughed as he hugged Ogen back, now nearly in tears himself. "Your welcome, Ogen. And your welcome here anytime!"

Breaking away from him and looking at the vial of seeds in his hand, Ogen could only think of one thing to say to Alfyn to express how truly grateful he was. "I'm… I'm grateful to have met you, Alfyn. And I know, wherever he is now, Graham is proud of the man that boy he saved became."

"...Shucks." Alfyn turned abruptly away, trying to hide the tears as they fell down his face. "Thanks, Ogen."

"Happy Bifelgan's day." Ogen said, already making plans to return to Clearbrook for these celebrations next year, if only so he could get Alfyn a gift tor truly show his thanks.


	82. A Stolen Year

_A little promised fluff to end the year!_

 _Have a fantastic new year, bring on 2020!_

* * *

 _How Therion came to travel with Cyrus he couldn't quite remember, but he certainly was grateful for whatever God threw him into his path._

* * *

A Stolen Year

It hadn't been an easy year. In fact, if pressed, Cyrus was inclined to say that it had been the hardest year of his life. Which probably went a long way to show just how sheltered and simple his life had been thus far.

And yet, he'd come out the other side of this year stronger than he'd started it – both physically and mentally. For all the hardships he'd endured on his search for _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ , he'd earned himself a new understanding of the continent and the history and myths it had been built on. And, yes, while Atlasdam had lost both its headmaster and headmaster's assistant to all this malarkey with the missing tomes, it had rehired a professor most dedicated to his study and the bettering of his and the world's knowledge.

It was just strange that he brought that thief back with him.

It was just strange that he'd started travelling with that thief in the first place.

Because, well, they had nothing in common. For a renowned (though disgraced) scholar to travel twice around the continent with a thief while he hunted down the criminal who had stolen the missing books… For a thief to travel with a scholar even as he searched for a way to remove the mark of shame shackled to his wrist…

No one could wrap their head around it, least of all the pair of them.

It had been such a chance coincidence that the pair had even met, simply bumping into each other as they brought provisions for their respective journeys. And, when they thought back on it, neither of them could really remember who had suggested they start travelling together in the first place. Therion was adamant that Cyrus had forced himself upon the thief, desperate to learn more about these Dragonstones he was collecting and to get a thief's opinion on his own stolen book quest; Cyrus was insistent that Therion had suggested they travel together since Cyrus would be able to take the fall for him if anything went wrong. Regardless of how exactly it had come to pass, the two of them started reluctantly travelling together soon after they left Atlasdam. By the time their journeys came to an end nearly six months after they started travelling… They were more than reluctant to part.

During the course of their journey together, they'd gotten to know one another quite well, perhaps better than anyone else in the entirety of Orsterra knew them. Because, while Cyrus' life was quite frankly an open book, Therion's was a locked closet, full to the brim with secrets and traumas just waiting to be unloaded on someone quiet and trustworthy who would listen.

And while Cyrus hadn't exactly asked to hear these problems of Therion's, he'd heard them all by the time they parted ways.

By the time they left Noblecourt with a Dragonstone in Therion's pocket, Cyrus had learnt that Therion thought all scholars pompous, pedantic pains-in-the-arse – himself included. When they arrived back in Bolderfall and returned the first of the Dragonstones to the young lady Ravus, Cyrus started to learn that Therion trusted no one, not even himself, and when they left the black market in Wellspring, the scholar knew why. He didn't press for more details about Therion and Darius' relationship, it was all too obvious in the way his entire personality had changed when the pair came into contact with him for the first time.

Surprised so completely, the swagger and confidence that Cyrus had come to rely on from the thief as they walked the towns was replaced with a shocked, high-pitched voice, a weakened, distracted display in his fighting abilities as they fought of Darius' men. The small chatter that he'd finally managed to cultivate with the man as they travelled from town to town was replaced by such overwhelming silence that Cyrus hadn't even known where to start the conversation on their way back to Ravus' manor.

However, Cordelia _had_ known where to start. Because she knew that look on Therion's face, a look at Cyrus had never worn. Distrust. The broken heart of a cynic so desperate to be a trusting optimist that just kept getting crushed.

While Cyrus – a trusting optimist to a fault – had never experienced what Therion had, couldn't know the terrible things that Darius had done to him in their years as partners in crime, he could carry on as though things would get better. And Therion was rather grateful for that.

It hadn't taken long at all for Therion to get a read of the good professor – he never did shut up all that much, after all. A man dedicated only to his work, no eye for anything or anyone else - no matter how much they threw themselves at him. Yet still… It was one thing for a man to be dedicated his work and the singular pursuit of knowledge, it was another entirely for him to kill someone for using their knowledge in what he viewed as an immoral way. Yes, what Gideon was doing was disgusting, immoral and unforgivable in every sense of the words, but he was only doing what the tome told him to do.

What was perhaps even more confusing for the thief to witness was how Cyrus was so willing to kill his former boss because he'd harmed his student. He supposed, in one way, he could understand why Cyrus did what he had to do. But to do it in such a careless manner, with such dark determination behind his eye as he set the monstrous form of the man aflame…

There was a darkness to Cyrus, a side hidden from even the scholar himself that Therion only caught glimpses of as they fought men – especially those in their way. That darkness held him captive even as they made their way to their final destinations: Northreach and Duskbarrow.

Why Cyrus stood by Therion's side as they fought their way through a town of thieves intent on killing Therion, he didn't know. Why Therion decided to continue travelling with Cyrus to Duskbarrow after they returned the last two Dragonstones, he couldn't explain. The best either man could manage was to say they were simply finishing what they started, seeing all the loose ends tied together before they went their separate ways.

However, that didn't really explain why they lingered on the Woodland roads between Bolderfall and Duskbarrow. They travelled those roads almost slower than the Riverland slugs, setting up camps at lunch and striking them down long after the sun rose the next morning, foraging for fruits and hunting for meats as though they weren't carrying more provisions than they could possibly need for this last leg of their trip. Listening to one another talk as though they knew it might well be the last time they saw each other.

Therion not only tolerated Cyrus' impromptu classes and lectures, but he actively listened and questioned the scholar during that last stretch of the journey. Not only that, but the thief volunteered information about his past during that time as well, explaining to Cyrus why he trusted so little as a result of Darius' influence on him, discussing the fact that he hadn't really wanted to be a thief as a child but certainly felt he had little choice in the matter now – his face was too well known, too scarred to be trustworthy even in the towns that didn't know him.

And by the time they happened upon that hidden library… They hadn't wanted to part.

It was inexplicable, irrational even. Therion was a wandering pick-pocket, constantly moving, never settling down; Cyrus was a stationary scholar who travelled only when he wanted to retrieve a rare tome. Cyrus was a noble man, desperate to do good by the world and leave it better than when he arrived; Therion thought only of his own survival and gave little heed to those around him unless they could be of benefit to him. Yet after their six months together, they both began to change, to pick up some of those traits from one another. The professor gained a selfish wanderlust, desperate to see even more of the world for research purposes, of course. The thief became more conscious of those he stole from, taking only from those who had more than enough to spare.

And neither man really wanted to be that far from the other when it came time to part. They'd come to rely on one another – Cyrus relied on Therion's cutting sarcasm to shut him up when he was rambling or acting a fool; Therion relied on Cyrus' company, his ability to chatter away with only the slightest invitation to fill that silence that sometimes felt all too lonely.

So when they arrived back in Atlasdam in the early autumn, their goodbyes were difficult.

"You are more than welcome to stay, you know." Cyrus told Therion, a bundle of new-old tomes under his arm as they started up the bridge to the Academy. "You need not teach nor study."

"Thanks all the same, Books." Therion grabbed at his scarf, nervous around all these academics as they went about their lives, shooting him dirty glances. "But I'm not suited to a place like this."

"I understand." Cyrus sighed, resting a hand on Therion's shoulder that made the man jump in surprise. "Still, there is _always_ a seat at my table for a friend."

"Friend, eh?" Chuckling, Therion patted Cyrus on the back once. "I'll keep that in mind if I'm ever in the area."

Squeezing his shoulder as a goodbye, Cyrus offered Therion a sad smile as they parted ways on that bridge. "Safe travels, Therion."

Patting his back once again, Therion sighed his goodbyes. "Don't tell me how to travel, Books."

"Then die."

"I'll miss you too, Cyrus." Waving over his shoulder, Therion left Atlasdam once again, this time alone with no real need to come back.

Cyrus hadn't expected to see Therion again, there was no reason for him to come back to a town that knew his face after all. Still, that didn't stop him thinking about him. It didn't stop him hoping he'd catch a glimpse of purple scarf as he looked out his window into the Flatland plains every night. Rarely did Cyrus dream – he'd stay up so late reading that his body would simply shut off into sleep when it felt it was lacking – but when he did, it was of Therion, of their travels together.

Specifically, it was of the laughs they'd shared. The times when Cyrus had made Therion laugh so hard that he'd thrown his head back, the quieter times when he'd hidden his laughter behind his scarf as though he was embarrassed by it. It was of the times he'd caught him smiling out the corner of his eye as he explained this theory of the other, the times he'd woken before him and watched the cynical, sarcastic lines on the young thief's face soften with the comfort of sleep.

The problem was, Cyrus just never pieced together what it all meant. So often in his life, Cyrus had been alone, solitary in his studies and his private life. He never felt the need to find a wife, he never felt that urge that so many other men seemed to have to start a family. He was content with his studies, his pursuit of all things knowledgeable.

So when he started to think about Therion in every moment that he wasn't studying, he simply assumed that was how friends thought of one another.

Therion wasn't much better.

The only 'friend' the thief had ever had was Darius, his partner in crime. And though the man was abusive in more ways than one, Therion had looked up at him with some kind of revering love that he was never quite able to explain. So when the bastard threw him off the cliff and destroyed all those positive, human related emotions, Therion never quite figured out how to build them back up right. Hence why it had taken him so long to trust Cyrus, a man who would never have harmed him yet could still kill mercilessly. A man who only wanted to help him, to make him see the world in a positive light once again.

Constantly on the road, Therion didn't sleep all that much and only in short, easy to wake from bursts that left no room for dreams. But that didn't stop him from thinking about the scholar at every waking moment. The way he'd smiled as he spoke, the way he squinted when he read by candle light, the way he'd wrinkled his nose at the tavern mead yet smiled in surprise as he'd tasted it… Constantly he was reminded of the scholar, distracted by him even. It got to the point where he simply left the continent, hoping that a complete change in scenery might free his mind once again.

Instead it only made him lonely, desperate to return. However, he'd travelled so far south in his journey to run away from Cyrus that it was already winter by the time he returned to Orsterra, only a few days from the turn of their new year. Only a few days away from the New Year festival in Atlasdam.

Or at least, Therion thought there was a New Year festival in Atlasdam, there was one in most other towns and villages around the continent. But Atlasdam was never really all that much like all the other towns and villages in Orsterra. Their 'official' New Year festival was exclusive to scholars and members of the Atlasdam Royal Academy, leaving the rest of the town to celebrate alone. And, yes, while they did set up celebrations in the street, Cyrus wasn't there.

Or at least he wasn't there when Therion finally arrived on the bustling streets at quarter to midnight.

Exhausted and travel worn, Therion wasn't really sure why he'd tried so hard to travel all this way in such a short period of time. Four and a half moons had passed since he'd last seen Cyrus, would the scholar even remember him? Would he want to see him again?

There was little place for self-doubt in Therion's mind as he pushed his way through the crowds in the streets, going against the tide as he desperately searched for Cyrus. He knew he wouldn't find him in the crowds on the streets – he'd be up in the palace – but that didn't stop him from looking.

In the end, he hadn't needed to search all that hard. As soon as he made his way to the bridge connecting the Academy to the town, he saw that familiar moon lit silhouette reading a book as he leant against the bridge's stone wall.

It was like no time had passed. His hair was perhaps a little longer, his profile perhaps a little sharper – if only because of how it appeared in the moonlight – but he was still his Cyrus.

 _His_ Cyrus.

Shaking his head and clearing the frog in his throat – why was he so anxious? - Therion reached a hand in the air to wave as he approached. "Books? Uh, Cyrus?"

Immediately roused from his reading by that familiar voice, Cyrus turned to spot Therion walking up to him. And his face just lit up. "Therion?!"

Before he knew it, the thief was wrapped up in such a bone crushing hug that all he could do was chuckle and hug the professor back. "Good to see you too..."

"I take it your travels were safe?" Cyrus ask as he pulled away, folding his book into his cloak as he smiled at his friend. Evidentially, there had been no need for Therion to worry and doubt, Cyrus had missed him just as much as he had. But did he think about him as much as he did? Did he wonder why he left for so many months without even a letter?

"Enough." Therion answered honestly, folding another loose bandage away. "Only a few new scars."

"That's good to hear." Cyrus smiled as a silence descended on them. All this time, Therion had thought about coming back yet not once had he thought about what he was going to say.

"Why are you out here?" "I always hoped you would return." Therion and Cyrus said at the same time, breaking the overbearing silence before chuckling awkwardly.

"After you." Cyrus insisted, still smiling at his dear friend. But was that a faint hint of a blush at his cheeks?

Shaking his head, Therion asked again, "Why are you out here? I thought you'd be in there?"

Looking back over his shoulder at the palace, Cyrus chuckled. "Oh… I'm not one for fancy parties myself. Too much dancing, too much small talk… I just needed some air."

It wasn't like Cyrus to seem so distracted with his words, but Therion couldn't blame him. Somehow everything was just a little awkward. And continuing to talk was the only way he could think of to make it less awkward. "Not much of a dancer myself."

"Nor am I." Cyrus chuckled again, offering his hand. "Though, there is much more room out here if you wanted to practice…?"

Therion shook his head mutely.

"A fine choice." Cyrus chuckled again, looking back over his shoulder at the palace once more. "More than that, all the women in there… They are all clamouring for someone to kiss at midnight."

"What?" Therion asked in confusion, completely lost. Cyrus wasn't asking him too…?

"Oh, no, I..." He laughed again. "There is an old Flatland folk-tale that states that if two lovers kiss at midnight on the turn of the new year they will be blessed with good fortune for the year to come."

"I see. Sort of locks you in to that one person for the whole year."

"In a way, I suppose." Cyrus tilted his head to the side in agreement, lost in thought as he struggled to find the right words to say what was clearly on his mind. Therion watched silently, giving him the space he needed to formulate those thoughts. Finally, Cyrus faced him once again, a strangely troubled look in his eye. "Therion, may I be candid?"

"I've never known you to be any other way, Books." Therion joked before gesturing in front of him for the scholar to continue.

"Yes, quite. Um. I always hoped you would return." Cyrus struggled to meet Therion's eye as he spoke, a bright blush covering his cheeks that was visible even in the moonlight. "Most nights, I would set up at my desk in front of the window and watch the Flatland plains always hoping that I might see you a top one of the hills. You have haunted my every dream since I have returned and, well, it almost feels as though you stole this entire year away from me. However, I mean that in the most appreciative way possible."

"Cyrus. Shut up." Therion said softly, a strange look on his face that Cyrus had never seen before. It was soft, so soft, yet also forceful, determined even. So alien was the look on Therion's face that Cyrus didn't even register that he'd closed the gap between them completely, there was barely room for him to hold a book.

"Beg pard-"

Before he could finish, Therion's lips were on his own. Much like his face, his kiss was soft and determined, catching Cyrus so much by surprise that he did little more than just stand there in wide eyed shock as cheers rose from both sides of the bridge and the new year began.

"Happy New Year." Such a simple thing to say as he pulled away, but there was a wealth of emotion behind Therion's voice, all of which boiled down to the same thought that was running through Cyrus' head: 'Damn, that felt _good_.'

"H-happy new year." Cyrus managed a hoarse reply before he cleared his throat and asked, "I'm terribly sorry, but would we be able to do that again?"

"You don't have to be so polite about it, Books." Therion laughed, almost as red in the face as Cyrus.

"Oh, quite." Still, Cyrus was gentle as he took a hold of Therion's waist, never breaking eye contact as he leant down to his lips. He was gentle right up to the point when Therion decided he didn't want to be and knotted his hands in Cyrus' hood, pulling the scholar even closer as he desperately deepened the kiss. The next thing Therion knew, his back was forced against the bridge wall as Cyrus answered his desperate kiss with one perhaps even more hungry. Before he knew it, his hands were under Cyrus' shirt on his bare skin, his legs wrapped around the scholar's hips and one of their lips was definitely bleeding. A frantic breathlessness came over them, made all the more evident by their breath clouds in the cold winter air.

"Shall we go..." Cyrus started, panting as he momentarily broke away. "Shall we go somewhere a little more private?"

Therion could only manage a hasty nod in response.

The last year wasn't bad. In fact, if pressed, Therion was inclined to say that – despite everything that had happened – it was best year of his life. After all, if none of it had happened, he wouldn't have woken up in the bed of a man he could truly love and trust the first day of the new year.


	83. A Matter of Communication

_Happy New Year!_

* * *

 _H'aanit and Primrose may speak very different languages to one another at times, however, that only serves to help them protect each other from threats that only they can understand._

* * *

A Matter of Communication

"What's it like?" Primrose asked out of the blue one day as she, H'aanit and Linde meandered their way across the Moonstruck Coast.

"Beg pardon?" H'aanit asked in curiosity, her focus split between Primrose's conversation and watching Linde walk across the sand as though it was hot coals, disgusted when sand got stuck between her toes.

Since the events of their journey with the others, Primrose had settled down in Noblecourt once again, working hard with Master Forsythe and his son to rebuild the town's reputation with an Azelhart once again at its helm. A few regions away, H'aanit had settled into her life as a huntress in S'warkii, now skilled enough that Z'aanta had started to take her out on missions with him and Hägen when the Knights Ardante came knocking. While they'd all settled into their lives again, once one starts travelling a lingering wanderlust bug is always soon to bite a former traveller again, and Primrose and H'aanit had always enjoyed one another's company…

So when H'aanit wrapped up her hunting of the great direwolf causing havoc near Wispermill, she asked her Master for a leave of absence from her duties so that she might circle the continent with her friend again. Primrose had been so excited to see H'aanit and Linde outside her grand home that she'd dropped all her duties into the Forsythe's lap for the foreseeable future to immediately set out together again. How they'd ended up at the Moonstruck Coast, the girls didn't quite know, but as the sun began to set over the ocean, they both lost themselves to thought as the waves were bathed an orangey pink.

"What's it like being able to speak to animals?" Primrose clarified, settling into the sand as she drew her knees to her chest. It was a question that had plagued her for a while now. When she was a child, Primrose had long hoped that one day she would be able to speak the language of the birds, that she'd be able to tell them her tales of woe and hear their own. And here H'aanit was, having been able to do that her entire life.

"Oh." H'aanit nodded as she fell into thought, settling into the sand besides Primrose in a significantly less ladylike manner. "I supposen I have never thoughte too muche of it. 'Tis second nature for a hunter such as I."

"I see… What was it like the first time you realised you could do it?"

"I don not remember." H'aanit shook her head, clearly pained that she couldn't tell Primrose a more interesting tale. "I haven been able to understande beasts for mine whole life."

"Is that so..." Primrose said again, a little disappointed that this line of conversation was not as interesting as she'd hoped.

"However," H'aanit continued, a renewed confidence to her tone as she watched Linde chew the sand out from between her toes. "I don not thinken of the act as 'speaking', 'tis more akin to 'hearing'."

"How so?" Primrose asked in interest, reaching out in front of her to scratch Linde's ears as she worked on the sand, eliciting a small growl of no real malice in response.

"Thaten growl, for instance, what did thou hearen?"

"A growl?" Primrose said in confusion, unsure how to explain that she'd thought it a warning growl if anything. "I suppose I heard it as a warning not to bother Linde while she's cleaning herself again."

"Thou art not faren from what she said." H'aanit smiled. "Linde said, 'I thank thee for thine scratches, however, please saven them for a time whenst I can enjoyen them.'"

"You got all that from a short growl?!" Quite understandably, Primrose was incredulous.

"Aye." H'aanit nodded, smiling gently at Primrose's surprise. "I haveth been partners withe Linde for many moons, I understande her better than any otheren beast. In short, I speaken her language."

"Clearly."

"I also speaken the language of Hägen and dire wolves most competently. ...More competently than Master, sometimes..." H'aanit's eyes clouded for a moment before she shook her head. "All otheren beasts, I reade their body and their movements when we firste meet. I watchen them closely, I listen deeply. Many times, I knowen simply what they are feeling. However, most rarely, I hearen the words behind their growls."

"I see." Primrose lost herself to her thoughts again a she started out into the ocean. "So it's not so much that you can speak to animals, but more that you can understand them from their actions."

"Indeed."

"Must be a nice skill to have… Do you think I could learn it?" Asked Primrose, a little wistful.

"Nay." H'aanit shook her head, a little disappointed – it appeared – that she'd let her friend down. "It ist a lost skill, borne only into mine and mine Master's clans."

"It's innate rather than learned," Primrose nodded in understanding, hoping she was using those words Cyrus had taught her right – fearing that he might suddenly appear out of the ocean to chastise her if she was wrong. "A shame."

"Aye." H'aanit nodded her head in agreement as Linde came over to lie down between the two of them, clearly pleased that she'd finally cleaned her toes of sand. "I haven a question for thee, Primrose."

"Shoot."

"What ist it liken, to be able to understanden manfolk?"

Without a second hesitation, Primrose burst out laughing. "Oh H'aanit, you really are a treasure!"

"Thanke thee?"

"Unlike your ability to speak to the beasts, the ability to understand men is something I can teach you." Primrose chuckled as she stroked Linde gently, listening to her purrs in the hopes that she would be able to hear the words of gratitude beneath them. "Do you want to learn?"

For a moment, H'aanit sat and thought about it and Primrose was left alone with the sounds of Linde's purrs and the crashing of the waves. Finally, H'aanit shook her head. "I seemeth to recall that thou once tolden me there art two kinds of men: those devoted to worke and those devoted to pleasure."

Primrose nodded. "I do believe I said something like that during the earlier stages of our journey, yes."

"I also rememberen that thou said thou would protecten me from men were we to travel togetheren again."

Primrose looked away, embarrassed that that had been her reason to continue travelling when in truth she wanted simply to spend time with H'aanit. "Why, yes, I think I may have said something along those lines..."

"That being the case, I woulde liken to not learne anything more about manfolk." H'aanit said resolutely.

"I'm afraid you've lost me..." Primrose shook her head in confusion.

"Well, if I learnen no more, thou wilt have to continue to protecten me from men. Moreover, since thou cannot speaken to beasts, I wilt protecten thee from them."

"So, your saying," Primrose covered her mouth with her hand to hide her chuckle. "That by learning little on these two topics we can continue to protect one another as we travel."

"Indeed." H'aanit nodded with a smile. "Of course, I would be happy to travel beside thee even if I needed not protecting."

Unable to contain her laughter any longer, Primrose erupted in gales of giggles before patting H'aanit on the shoulder in reassurance. "Oh, I do love you, H'aanit! Never change."

Confused, H'aanit only nodded in agreement as the two watched the sun pass over the horizon, Linde's gentle, grateful purrs accompanying the crashing of the waves in lulling them to sleep beside one another once again.


	84. Sworn Service

_Eliza was sworn to protect Orsterra and its people, but some threats just seemed a little too big for one team to handle..._

* * *

Sworn Service

The Knights Ardantes were sworn to protect the realm, sworn into the service of the Sacred Flame as they promised their protection to everyone in Orsterra against any threat, big or small. Be it stopping a small riot in the local tavern or protecting the entire populous from a monstrous beast that spread only plague and death, the Knights would be there offering protection and their blades to stop the threat.

Eliza, of course, was no different. As a Knight Ardante herself, she had sworn an oath to protect anyone against any danger. But that didn't mean she didn't have people she wanted to protect more than others. Both Ophilia and Lianna of Flamesgrace were dear friends of Eliza's now, people she wanted to take extra steps to see protected; as were the S'warkii hunter pair, Z'aanta and H'aanit. All four of them had been through enough hardships this last year, Eliza was sure of that, they didn't deserve to struggle any longer.

But that didn't mean she hadn't hesitated greatly when H'aanit and Ophilia came to her with a new mission in Wispermill.

"I'm sorry," Eliza apologised, shaking her head in utter disbelief. "You want me to help you do _what_?"

"We required your aid in rescuing our friend," Ophilia repeated what H'aanit had just told her, probably assuming that H'aanit's dialect had been what made her react in such away, not the ludicrous nature of the request itself. "We believe he has been taken to the Gate of Finis in former Hornburg. Why he's been taken there, we do not know for sure but it seems as though he might be being used as a vessel to reawaken the Dark God Galdera."

"And the eight of you need my help stopping Galdera from being reborn and launching destruction upon the world?" Eliza summarised, still staring at them in utter disbelief. There was no way this was a real request, surely. It was too insane, too impossible.

"Nay." H'aanit shook her head and Eliza let out a sigh of relief. This was all some sort of strange prank after all… "There wilt ben more than eight of us."

"Pardon?"

"We've been requesting the aid of many people we've met during our travels." Ophilia clarified. "I think there are nearly 20 of us now."

H'aanit counted on her fingers before nodding. "If Eliza joinens, we wilt ben a team of 20… Plus Linde."

The snow leopard barked in acknowledgement that she would be joining them.

"This is utter insanity." Eliza shook her head again, completely dumbfounded by the request and that so many people had already agreed to join them on their quest to a certain death. Had they really had such an important impact on these people's lives that they were willing to fight with them?

"I agree." Ophilia nodded. "However, if we let things go any further without at least trying to prevent it, all the blood that could potentially be spilled will be on our hands."

"Hast thou not taken an oath to protecten the land from threats such as this?" H'aanit asked pointedly.

"I have, yes." Eliza sighed. "And I owe you both a debt of gratitude. But this… You understand how risky this is, don't you?"

"Yes." "Aye." Both girls nodded, even Linde bowed her head in what resembled a nod.

"And you're still willing to risk your lives anyway?"

Again, the trio nodded. Whether or not Linde understood the question or was simply going along with her mistress, Eliza didn't know. However, it was clear the three of them were determined.

Never had Eliza met a group of people so willing to throw themselves head first into danger, heedless of any consequences that may come to them as a result. Yes, she had a sworn duty to protect the people as well as Orsterra itself, however these eight didn't, they were simply travellers in search of something. And right now they were in search of their missing friend, a boy who might well become the vessel for a being that would bring only destruction and darkness to the land…

They might well be a collection strong fighters and healers – and Eliza could only speculate about how strong the others they'd gathered were – but they had to know they were outmatched by a God, even one who had only just been reborn into a body of a vessel.

Eliza sighed again. "I owe the pair of you a debt of gratitude as it is and if I aid you on this quest, I believe it will be repaid with interest. And protecting Orsterra is my sworn duty..."

"So you'll offer us your blade?" Ophilia asked, smiling upon her in such a way that Eliza just couldn't bring herself to refuse.

"I suppose I will." Eliza shook her head, smiling a little to herself. "However, I will not offer you any soldiers. No need to sacrifice lives needlessly."

"I promise, your life will not be sacrificed." Ophilia reassured her, twirling her staff as they set off to join the others. "There are already five healers in our group, no one will die on our watch."

"We'll see..." Eliza muttered under her breath, already falling into a pessimism. However, if this was to be her last mission, she'd give it all she had. She'd fight to protect Orsterra, to save the boy.

She'd fight to protect this collection of misfits from hurting themselves against a threat they were clearly underestimating. 20 people were no match for a God.


	85. A Forgotten Meeting

_Odette often visited Geoffrey in Noblecourt, but she only took Cyrus with her once._

* * *

A Forgotten Meeting

It had been 10 years ago, if he was remembering right, not long before word started to travel of the fall of house Azelhart. Not long before Odette put in her notice and left Atlasdam for good.

At the time, Cyrus had had no idea that these two acts were related, he had no idea that this would be the last time she and Geoffrey met. He simply went along to Noblecourt with his friend, hoping to procure some of the resources he needed for his current topic of research from the travelling merchants.

He had no idea he'd meet someone important at the market that day.

No, he simply parted ways with Odette at the market square, looking from one merchants goods to the next, discussing the wares they carried and haggling a good price when needed. With a flutter of his cape and a hearty chuckle as leaves exchanged hands, Cyrus made something of a name for himself at that market, an oblivious young professor who knew not how much items were worth nor how much the local women flirted with him. He was very much a merchant's delight.

Until finally the young Azelhart girl got involved.

"500 leaves you say?" Cyrus asked, weighing up a block of loose leaves of paper tied with rotting twine. Though he knew not the author of these pages nor what tales and knowledge was hidden within, Cyrus very much wanted to get his hands on them, to take them back to his room and read their words until his eyes blurred. "Could we perhaps make it 300?"

"450, take it or leave it." The merchant said finally, a strange smile creasing his features that Cyrus didn't have the street smarts to understand was the smile of a swindler.

"Very well." Pulling out his coin purse, Cyrus started to count his leaves.

That was, until the young Azelhart got involved. "Not so fast."

"Hm?" Turning around, Cyrus watched as a short teenage girl came over to them, her hands firmly on her hips as she stared the trembling merchant down.

"The good scholar will pay no more than 100 leaves for that stack." She said forcefully, an authoritative tone to her voice that Cyrus had never heard from a girl as young as her. "Or I can make sure you never do trade in this town again."

"Y-yes, Lady Azelhart." The merchant stammered, bowing to the young girl. "100 leaves, please sir."

A little confused by the encounter, but never one to say no to a bargain, Cyrus handed his leaves to the merchant and took the stack of papers, following the young girl out of the market and up to the bench that over looked it. "Thank you, miss."

"Think nothing of it." Primrose shook her head, inspecting her nails.

"I will most certainly think something of it!" Cyrus exclaimed, sitting on the bench besides her as she sighed. "Not just anyone would help a man protect his leaves from a swindler. In fact, I would go so far as to say-"

"What's your name?" She cut him off, no room for needless chatter in her young life. She wanted simply to sit and watch the world move by, to sit and wonder what it might be like to be a normal person like this scholar rather than some noble's daughter.

"Professor Cyrus Albright." Cyrus introduced himself, bowing slightly as he sat. "Did I hear right that you are the young Lady Azelhart?"

"Primrose." She offered her hand for him to shake, tired of all the titles, the bows.

"A pleasure to meet you, Primrose." Cyrus smiled on her, a smile she couldn't help but reciprocate. It wasn't so hard for her to understand why all the women of the market were so smitten with him; a charming smile, a lovely voice and clearly enough leaves in his purse to be swindled of a few hundred…

"Tell me, Professor, what's it like?" She asked, pulling her knees to her chest as she continued to watch the people laugh and go about their business.

"To be a professor?" Cyrus shook his head, laughing slightly to himself as he did. "I'm afraid I cannot give you an accurate answer to that one, my dear. I've only been a professor for-"

"No." Primrose shook her head, resting her cheek on her knee as she continued to watch, her eyes unfocused. "What's it like to be normal?"

"Oh." Looking from the girl back to the market, Cyrus sighed. "It's overrated, my dear. Yes, you might have the weight of the town on your shoulders one day, however you will not want for anything, you will not have to claw, scrape and barter just for enough food on your plate for one night's meal. That is worth all the bowing and pretty words you will have to endure in your life. You can trust me on that, my dear."

For a moment all was silent, the pair simply sat and watched the people go about their business. What Primrose was thinking about in that moment, Cyrus couldn't know; nor could she know what he was thinking of. By the time they met again, a decade later, they had long forgotten about that meeting, what they were thinking in that moment.

And when at last Primrose opened her mouth, Odette crossed the bridge from the other side of town with her father, stealing away whatever she would have said as they parted ways.

For a decade, they both forgot about that conversation, about ever meeting at all. They had much more pressing things to worry about, after all.

And when at last they met again all those years later, they barely recognised each other, barely remembered each other and that meeting. They merely thought one another a familiar face, a recognisable name ringing bells deep in the vaults of their memories.

That was until Cyrus asked, during a quiet moment as they watched their friends shop the market stalls in Grandport: "Tell me, Primrose, what was it like for you to be 'normal'?"

A small, almost saddened smile came to her face as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest and watched Tressa laugh uproariously as she put a floral hat on Therion, as H'aanit and Olberic stroked weapons a few stalls away, as Ophilia and Alfyn procured rare flowers from an apothecarial stall around the other side of the market.

"For all my regrets, my degradation and mistakes," Primrose flashed him a grin. "I wouldn't change it for the world, Professor."


	86. A Starved Flame

_Trapped in Yvon's cell, it was all Cyrus could do not to give up on it all there and then._

* * *

A Starved Flame

"Curse you… To the farthest reaches of Hell..." Cyrus breathed again, startled by the breath cloud that escaped his lips as he did. Perhaps he was not only feeling cold from a lack of oxygen after all, perhaps it was truly freezing at the bottom of Yvon's pit. Pulling his cloak tighter, wiping the sweat from his brow as he huddled even further into the corner, Cyrus leant his head back against the wall. "Damn you, Yvon."

He knew he shouldn't be speaking, he was only wasting valuable oxygen in doing so after all. The candle he'd lit shortly after the trap door had closed was little more than a pin-pick flame now, barely lighting the corner it was in, let alone the entire cell. All in all, the situation looked dire and the littered bones certainly indicated that no one else had escaped the pit either.

Had they also asphyxiated? Had they instead launched themselves at the trapdoor as he had and been less fortunate with their landing? Or had the door once been looser and they had starved as Yvon had told Cyrus he would?

Of course, there was no way for Cyrus to know; the bones could not talk and he certainly didn't have the strength nor brain power to perform an archaeological autopsy on them. No, he simply let his back slip lower against the wall, praying for help that he knew would never come.

Yvon would not free him now, nor would Lucia. He was alone.

Why had he set out on a journey alone?

When on the trail of a book titled _From the Far Reaches of Hell,_ one had to assume there would be a certain level of danger in tracking it down. Cyrus had certainly learnt as much when he'd found himself face to face with Gideon in Quarrycrest, the horrors he saw there… A man of weaker stomach would certainly have found himself amongst the dead. Instead, here he was, still alive, if only barely.

Sighing, Cyrus lit a small fire in the palm of his hand. Born of magic, the flame would burn so long as he had energy, unlike the candle that was reliant on oxygen. He had hoped the flame in his hand would be tall, bright, burning with his passion to live. Instead, it was rather small, half the height of his thumb and flickering ominously.

"It seems as though," Cyrus closed his fist around the flame, closing his eyes. "I am not long left for this world. My apologies, Odette… My students..."

"Professor?"

Pulled immediately to his feet by the familiar voice, Cyrus almost didn't notice the square of light that had appeared on the floor, nor the inquisitive girl looking down on him from above. No, all he noticed was the tightness in his lungs growing first tighter as he breathed as heavily as he could before the sensation completely abated and the throbbing in his head started to slow. He could breath again.

He could yet live.

And when at last he looked above him, there was a rope, his key to safety hovering just inches from his fingers. His ascent was sloppy in its desperation, leaving his hands covered in rope burns as he pulled his way to safety. And the look on his face when he saw Therese certainly could not hide his fear, concern nor frustration at seeing the girl there. Still, he was relieved. He was safe, alive. And Therese, she was too.

Then, in their moment of relief, Yvon appeared and snatched her away, his hostage to ensure that Cyrus finally left him be. If he left this house and never looked back, by all accounts Yvon would not harm Therese. Yet there was no guarantee that he would not use her for the same blood experiments that Gideon had performed. And her blood would be on Cyrus' hands if he left now.

So, staff in hand and with a heavy sigh, Cyrus started to pick his way through the dust and general abandonment of Yvon's old home. Sprites and Elementals were common foes, but Cyrus' fearsome look kept all but the most brave and foolhardy away.

Yes, Therese had been the reason he had been suspended from the academy at Atlasdam to begin with, but Cyrus was always one to put a positive spin on things. If not for Therese, he would not have set out on this journey to begin with. If not for Therese, he would not still be alive right now.

Yes, he could certainly blame her for his being trapped in Yvon's cell, but why blame someone for their misdeeds when they are so clearly working towards being better?

Such was his thought when he came across her in the cellar, his thought as he raised his staff and readied his magic against the twisted form of Yvon.

He could lay blame, he could walk away right now and save his own skin. Or he could fight to save a life, to bring about a world where all knowledge was equal, safe and no one need set out on such a dangerous journey again.

The magical flame in Cyrus' palm as he fought Yvon was brighter than even light magic, twice the height of his fingers and burning with far greater intensity than it had ever burnt before.


	87. More Valuable Than Leaves

_Even when Tressa comes to Ali with a most outlandish proposal, he offers her his services at a bargain price._

* * *

More Valuable Than Leaves

"Come on, old man! No one has the time to haggle for every last leaf no more!"

"You cocky upstart! You've been selling goods for less than a year and think you're better than the Great Maruf?!"

Tressa could quite understand why the others left her to approach Ali alone when they reached Marsalim. Out here in the barren desert, sound travelled far – they'd heard Ali and Maruf long before the gate to Marsalim was even in sight. The last time she'd seen Ali he'd been reunited with his father, ready and raring to go as they made plans to create the greatest shop the Sunlands had ever seen.

Based on the shouts and the fact that no one dare get close to the pair's raised stall, it certainly looked to Tressa as though they were a long way off starting their shop yet.

"I'm not being lectured by an old man who hasn't sold even water in the desert this last year!" Ali shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration as he stormed off, almost stamping right into Tressa as she watched from the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, Greenpea? W-Welcome to the greatest southern land in the sands! The jewel of the desert, the oasis that sparkles like-"

"I've been here before, Ali." Tressa shook her head, beaming a cocky smile at him as she did. "I helped my friend H'aanit save the royal guards from Redeye."

" _You_ were involved in saving King Khalim from the foul, stone-eyed beast?!" Ali exclaimed in surprise before clearing his throat and regaining his composure. "I mean, that's impressive, Greenpea."

"It was nothing." Tressa shook her head, really meaning those words rather than attempting to be modest – she hadn't really done all that much during the battle, she was more just acting in support of H'aanit and Cyrus as they did all the hard work. Arching an eyebrow, she offered him another grin. "But does that mean I've graduated from green status now?"

Ali laughed heartily, punching her lightly in the shoulder. "Not even slightly, Greenpea."

Tressa pouted a little before laughing herself. It was just as Graham had said in his diary, a true friend and rival really was worth more than all the priceless treasures in the world. Sure, Tressa had her fellow travelling friends whom she trusted and had come to care for most dearly, but there was something about having someone she could trust in that capacity who was also in her line of work that… Well, Tressa would almost say she valued that more.

Which is why she was most uncertain of how to approach the subject of asking for his help. "How're things going with building the shop?"

Ali glared back at his father behind him, his arms crossed resolutely. "They'd be going a lot better if _someone_ wasn't so stuck in the past!"

Maruf threw a balled up piece of parchment in Ali's direction, it didn't fly particularly far.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Shaking his head, Ali turned his attention back to Tressa again. "Anyway, what _does_ brings you here, Greenpea?"

Taking a deep breath as she glanced back at her friends over near the palace, everything she needed to ask of him seemed to come out in a rush on the exhale. "My friends and I are travelling to former Hornburg to save my other friend from a witch and possibly the Dark God Himself."

"What?"

Taking another deep breath, Tressa looked him square in the eye as she swallowed her pride. "We need your help. Whatever the price."

"Again," Ali shook his head, confused by her request. "What?"

Resting against the wall, Tressa explained the situation with Kit to Ali, certain she sounded like a crazy person making an even more outlandish request. Still, she knew she had to ask. Yes, they'd managed to convince quite a few of the friends they'd made on their journey to travel with them now but more was always better. They had no idea who or what they'd be facing beyond the Gates of Finis, they had no idea what Lyblac had told Kit when she spirited him away. For all they knew, he was already dead, a sacrifice to the Dark God.

The whole time she explained how they'd come to know Kit, why they felt obligated to save him even if the rumours were true and he was now a vessel for Galdera, Ali simply listened in wide eyed horror. She couldn't be serious, surely? A band of mortals were sure to be no match for a God, new born or otherwise. And this Kit she said they were to save…

"Tressa." Ali interrupted, his face as blank as a sheet as he asked. "This Kit, he's a blond kid, ponytail and blue cape, right?"

Tressa nodded. "You know him?"

Silently, Ali nodded. He remembered coming across the lad in his travelling troupe on his way to Grandport, he remembered selling him some provisions at a bargain price. He remembered listening as he asked if he had ever seen his father and telling him no, but he did know of a woman on the other side of Orsterra who was looking for a man of similar description to his father.

Had he… Had he accidentally thrown the poor boy into the arms of a dangerous witch?

"What's your price?" Tressa asked, pulling out her purse.

"You can't seriously want me to come with you, Greenpea? You saw how terribly I fought in Quarrycrest."

"A merchants words are like a warrior's blade." Tressa smiled as she paraphrased his words, before shaking her head. "We've got warriors and healers galore already, what we need is people who can raise morale."

"And you think I can do that?" Ali asked incredulously.

"I've seen you sell products to even the cheapest of men, I think you can weave a yarn to keep our spirits high." She giggled as she winked. "Besides, we're going to need someone to hold our packs for us while we fight too..."

Ali gave her a hard look before laughing himself. "You know how dangerous this is, don't you, Greenpea?"

"I do." She nodded again, glancing over at her fellow travellers once more. "But I have to help. ...Besides, it would make a great end to my adventure – no matter what happens!"

"Always the optimist..." Ali sighed, shaking his head once again. He knew he wouldn't say no to this offer, he wouldn't even take any leaves as payment. No, it was his conscience that drew him to help the foolish girl and her friends, he might have been responsible for throwing Kit into danger, after all. But this was more than just another dangerous, ill-thought-out adventure. With another sigh, Ali offered Tressa a smile. "Let me get my things and say goodbye to my old man."

"Really?!" Tressa really could be rather shrill at times. "What's your price?"

"Nothing." Ali shook his head as he turned away from her, back towards his father. On his way, he turned back once to offer her a wink. "Actually, no. My only price is that we make it out alive."

"Deal." Tressa laughed again. "But you know I always get my money's worth."

"That's rather ominous." Ali remarked with a slight shudder before continuing towards his and Maruf's small stall. Who knew when he'd be back, _if_ he'd be back? However, if his father had said only one thing to him his entire life that he took to heart, it was that trust in someone was more valuable than any amount of leaves. Ali trusted Tressa and her companions, apparently even with his life.


	88. Three of a Kind

_Quick preface to this story: as you may have noticed, next week is Valentines week. Last year for Valentines week, I posted a story every day and you might be wondering if I'm doing the same this year. Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to write a story for every day of the week this year, so instead I've written one slightly longer than usual story that will be posted next Saturday as usual. Apologies that I can't do the full week again this year._

 _Anyway, this week's story is a follow up to the poker game the travelers played in Full House last year, and even better, it's spoiler free!_

* * *

 _Taverns are never quiet for long when the travelers come along. Especially when they come bearing cards. (Full House pt. 2)_

* * *

Three of a Kind

"A round of ale, my good man!" Cyrus shouted to the bartender as the group entered the tavern, travel worn to be sure, but excited for a night off to 'bond' once more. "And a jug of water for the table."

It had been far, far too long since the group had settled in for an evening of simply enjoying each others company and the local drinks. In fact, now that Primrose thought about it, the last time they'd stopped for a chance to truly relax together had been their poker game all those months ago. Which was rather a shame, for she, Olberic and H'aanit had been waiting for a chance to play each other ever since.

"What's the plan for tonight, then?" Alfyn asked, already settled into his seat at the table as the bartender brought over their flagons. "I'm not playin' your drinkin' game again, Therion."

Therion sunk lower in his chair, pulling his tankard close as he disappeared into his scarf. "Wasn't going to suggest we should."

"Really?" Tressa teased, giggling to herself as she poured a glass of water before turning to Cyrus. "Hey, Professor, how 'bout another game of poker?"

"Marvelous idea, Tressa!" Cyrus smiled, pulling his deck from the folds of his cloak. "Will the three of you be playing this time?"

"I thinken not." H'aanit shook her head, chuckling slightly as she remembered the last time. While it had certainly been enjoyable to watch Therion and Tressa lose to Cyrus and then Cyrus lose to the healers, it had also been rather loud… And there was no fun to be had playing against people who's tells one already knows.

"Oh, that's a shame." Ophilia said, a little disappointed before she smiled upon them once again. "Will you be dealing for us again?"

"Nay." Olberic shook his head, pulling an old deck from his pocket, one that was even more worn than Cyrus'. "I believe the three of us will play against one another instead."

"An excellent idea, Olberic." Primrose grinned, excited to play her first round of poker with friends. The last match with her travelling companions had certainly helped her forget the old days of poker in the Sunlands, but playing some hands against her friends herself would certainly help to remove those lingering bad memories from her mind. "Should we perhaps sit at another table?"

"No!" Tressa exclaimed with a pout, her arms crossed petulantly like a child. "It's bad enough that you wont play with us, I'm not letting you sit somewhere else as well!"

"I see." Primrose smiled on her, pulling her own deck of cards from her pouch and laying them as a sort of barrier between the two groups. "We will continue to sit with you, but the three of us will play on this side of the card line while you can play on the other."

"Not much of a card line there, Primrose." Therion snorted, watching as she laid them out flat rather than trying to make anything a little more ornamental. "Aren't you going to build some sort of separating tower?"

"Perhaps you can do that after you lose first again, Therion." Cyrus smiled on him, shuffling his deck rather crudely. "It will certainly give you something to do while you wait for the game to end."

"Give me those." Therion snapped, stealing the cards from Cyrus and shuffling himself. "I'll deal."

"Oh no you wont." Tressa snatched the cards from Therion, handing them to Ophilia instead. "I trust her not to cheat."

"Oh dear..." Ophilia chuckled lightly to herself as she cut the deck a few times. "Are you sure you don't want to deal for us, Primrose?"

"Quite certain." Primrose smiled at the group as Olberic shuffled his deck and Linde settled in on H'aanit's lap. "I suggest we order another round before we start."

"Excellent idea!" Cyrus agreed. "That way we can toast to Lady Luck that she might favour our hands."

"And I can lower my inhibitions early," Olberic mumbled, low enough that only H'aanit and Primrose could hear him. "So that I need not listen to your terrible skills all night again."

"A wisen choice." H'aanit agreed quietly, getting herself comfortable in her chair as Linde crawled and circled all over her. "Art thou not comfortable yet?"

Linde purred slightly at her Mistress before circling once more.

With the decks shuffled and Lady Luck toasted, the two groups sunk into their own games. On the lighter of the table, Ophilia and Alfyn sat with their smiles and general lack of knowledge of how the game was to be played opposite Tressa and Therion whom were both simply determined not to lose first once again. At the head of that side of the table, Cyrus toyed with the handle of his tankard, watching the others as Ophilia flicked cards to the players before setting the rest of their deck firmly in the middle of the table for all to see. On the darker corner side of the table, H'aanit sat with a tankard in one hand, her cards in the other, and Linde firmly in the middle, an unnecessary obstacle for her to look around. Besides her, at the head of their side of the table, Olberic was reaching over to place the remainders of his deck in the centre of the table, keeping his cards close to his chest so that neither girl could see them. And opposite H'aanit, Primrose was fiddling with her chips, her focus at once on her cards and the other two players as she tried her hardest to figure out their tells.

Alfyn didn't know how to play the game well enough to have developed any tells; Ophilia smiled all the time, making it damn near impossible to tell what kind of hand she held; Cyrus would toy with his tankard handle and grip it tight when he had a bad hand; Tressa, bless her, was as much an open book when she played games as she was in day to day life and Therion would brute force his way through, offering the game none of the skill and silence he used when performing his profession. Primrose knew all their tells, and her own of fiddling with coins when her hand was good and her hair when it was bad – thankfully she'd mastered her poker face long enough ago that the two she was playing against might well not notice her tell – but she couldn't for the life of her imagine what the others were…

So she decided to talk to them as they played their hand, both to distract them and to try and drown out the noise of the group playing on the other side of her deck divide.

"So Olberic," Primrose asked as she picked up her fourth hand. So far, the three of them had each won a round and their chips remained roughly as they had been when they started. "Where did you learn to play?"

"The barracks of Hornburg." He replied simply, taking a sip from his tankard. So far, he'd done that at the start of every hand, and Primrose had yet to figure out what it meant. "Many hands were dealt in those barracks long before I was knighted. Many more were dealt by my hand before the fall. This deck was actually a gift from Erhardt for my birthday the year of the coup. ...I am in."

"And you, H'aanit?" Primrose asked the hunter, watching as Olberic tossed his chips into play.

"I folden." She replied, placing her cards on the table and using her now free hand to stroke Linde's ears. With Linde blocking her Mistress' face whenever she read her hand, Primrose was having an even harder time reading H'aanit. But she'd get there, she was sure of it.

"I meant when did you learn to play." Primrose stopped fiddling with her coins and tossed a few in next to Olberic's. "I call."

The pair showed their hands and Primrose emerged victorious, her two high pairs beating Olberic's two middling as he sighed and shuffled the deck again.

"Oh." H'aanit chuckled as she took her new hand, setting her tankard down as she continued to stroke Linde's ears. "I did not learnen as such. Master likened toe frequent the gamblers dens in Victor's Hollow, I learned what notten to doe by watchening him there. I am in."

Gently pushing her way around Linde, H'aanit knocked a few chips loose from her pile and pushed them into the middle.

"Primrose?" Olberic asked, watching as she plucked one coin from her tower before lowering it back down again. She supposed she should have expected them to ask her where she learnt, but that didn't mean she was prepared to explain.

"My former employer liked to make his dancers the chips of his poker games." She said simply as she plucked another coin, her eyes unfocused as she looked at the straight in her hand. "We lost clothes when the players lost their hands."

"I meant," Olberic cleared his throat, the noise on the other side of the table quieted in response to Primrose's explanation. "Are you in?"

"Oh." Blushing slightly, Primrose tossed a few coins in herself. "Yes."

"As am I." Olberic also added his coins to the pile as the trio turned their cards up before sighing as H'aanit took the pile.

"We need not playen if doing so bringens up foul memories." H'aanit offered as Linde jumped from her lap, fed up of being leant around rather than fussed, most likely.

"I will never forget the bad memories if I do not make new, better ones." Primrose smiled, both at her friend's concern and the fact that she could now see her face when she pulled her cards. "I wager it is the same for you two."

"Perhaps." "That maye be..." They picked up their cards and Primrose watched close as Olberic finished his tankard and H'aanit bore into hers up.

"Another round, please!" Primrose called to the barkeeper as she twisted a stray lock of her hair and the games continued.

It seemed as though barely any of their piles had diminished by the time the other half of the table claimed their first loser, Alfyn.

"Dammit," Alfyn mumbled as Therion claimed his winnings. "I'm just no good at this."

"Perhaps you will be better at building a card tower?" Ophilia gently teased, swapping seats with him so that he was closer to Primrose's dividing deck.

"Maybe I will!" He exclaimed as he picked up two cards, placed them so that their tips touched and watched as they fell down again, ignoring Therion's laughter as he picked them up to try again.

"Nothing if not determined, that one." Primrose mumbled under her breath as she sighed. "Fold."

Her tower of chips was starting to get dangerously low by the time she figured out Olberic's tell. Tressa had just fallen out of play and taken a seat next to Alfyn as they figured out how to build a card tower and Therion was doing suspicously well over on that side of the table. Over on her side, H'aanit was winning by a fair margin, mostly because the other two players were yet to suss out her tell. Olberic took a big gulp from his tankard when his hand was bad, a regular sip when it was okay and no drink at all when it was good, Primrose's fiddling had been quickly discovered by her observant fellow players and yet… H'aanit was inscrutable. It was almost as though there was no rhyme or reason to any of her actions, she simply acted as Linde slept at her feet.

"Hang on." Tressa mumbled as Ophilia went all in against another of Therion's bluffs. "Primrose, is this a full deck?"

"Yes." She nodded, her attention momentarily torn away from her game as they watched Tressa count.

"It's missing two cards."

And so all eyes fell on Therion who had been playing suspicously well all night. "Bugger."

"Cheater!" Tressa shouted at him, attracting the attention of everyone else in the tavern with her shrill shout.

"Okay, fine!" Therion mumbled, throwing the two cards from Primrose's deck back to Tressa. "Can't just win one game, can I…?"

"Well, Ophilia my dear," Cyrus smiled, toying with the handle of his mug. "It appears it is just you and I."

"It does, doesn't it?"

"Would you rather call it a tie and build towers while we watch the masters play?"

"That sounds lovely." Ophilia chuckled as she handed Cyrus his deck.

"Fantastic," Primrose mumbled as she took a swig of her tankard. "Nothing like an audience."

"Mighten I suggest," H'aanit hedged as she took the winnings of the round once again. "That we maken this hand our last. Whoever winnens, claims victory?"

"As you wish." Olberic agreed, slightly tired and definitely a little intoxicated as he threw his cards to the two ladies.

"A wise idea," Primrose yawned theatrically. "I could use my beauty sleep."

"It's barely even 10." Therion pointed out to the group as they took their hands.

"Even the wicked need rest once in a while." Primrose yawned, genuinely this time, as she toyed with her chips. Three sixes and two fives staring up at her from her hand. Besides her, Olberic was yet to touch his tankard and the smile on his face certainly spoke of a strong hand – no one could have enjoyed her joke that much.

Across the table, H'aanit had picked up Linde and held her close to her chest as she regarded her own hand. "Are thou ready?"

"Full house." Primrose shared her hand.

"As am I." Olberic said slightly incoherently as he showed his three fours and two fives.

"Whaten are the chances..." H'aanit flipped her cards over, revealing three sevens and two eights.

The three of them erupted into laughter as the other half of the table stared at their cards in awe. Completely shocked, Alfyn knocked his magnificent card tower down with his elbow.

"Oh shucks." He swore, gathering the cards together before handing them back to Primrose.

"Who wins?" Tressa asked as the trio cleared their side of the table, congratulating each other.

"From a mathematical stand point, I believe H'aanit wins." Primrose said as she took back her deck.

"I could not discover your tell." Olberic confessed to H'aanit as they group started to stand.

"I knowe." H'aanit grinned as she held her sleep leopard close. "Liken I said, I learned by watchening Master and correcting his mistakes. Master has many tells, I haven none."

"Right…" Primrose rolled her eyes. "It's to do with Linde, isn't it?"

"...Aye." H'aanit chuckled. "I scratchen her when mine hand is poor, and stroken when it is good."

"No wonder I didn't pick it up." Primrose laughed. "I'll beaten you next time, though."

"Aye, me too." Olberic nodded enthusiastically.

With a hearty laugh as the group left the tavern behind, H'aanit turned to all seven of her travelling companions as she stroked Linde's sleepy head. "I welcome thee to try!"


	89. Tell Me a Story

_It's Valentines day, which means it's time for an earlier than usual update and for Valentines Week pt. 2!_

 _Or, rather, what happened a year on from the Valentines week stories last year (they're chapters 33-40 if you haven't read them). As a follow on from these stories, this one features the same couples and the same higher end of the T-rating writing. It's also longer than the last few stories at about 6000 words._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Everyone has their own Steorra's day tale._

* * *

Tell Me a Story

Deep in the forest north of Atlasdam, a gust of wind rushed gently through the leaves, bringing with it a restless, rustling sound that seemed almost to contain all the secrets of the world. Some of the weaker leaves were knocked free from their branches, left to fall carelessly into the outstretched hand of the woman resting in the hammocked crook of the lower limbs of the greatest tree. Beneath her, a man was sat with his back to the tree bark, absorbed wholly in his tome as he read about the legends of Steorra's day once again.

Strange to think that, nearly a year ago, the pair had been sat with their friends in the grand Azelhart manse, celebrating both Steorra's day and the continent being saved from Galdera and Lyblac. Stranger to think that they hadn't really seen any of their travelling friends since.

Sure, on occasion, Tressa and Therion would pass through looking for treasures; once Alfyn had swung by to heal a sudden pestilence that had broken out in Wispermill, Ophilia close by his side as she learnt all she could about apothecarial magic; Olberic and Erhardt had made the trip up from the Highlands once to pay them a visit, to tell them how they had settled down together in Cobbleston yet still wandered to wherever their swords were needed; and H'aanit had popped her head in once or twice on her way back to the Woodlands after yet another successful hunt, Linde frolicking at Alaic's feet at least as much as she did at H'aanit's. However, at no point did any of their friends stay for longer than a quick chat.

None but Kit.

Although no longer in search of his father, Kit was still a keen traveller, searching for his next great adventure as he travelled the continent and beyond. And he was always sure to stop in Noblecourt periodically to tell Cyrus and Primrose of his latest adventure, to show them his newest treasure and stay the night before he headed off again the next morning, back into the great big world outside of the Flatlands.

Primrose would be lying if she said she didn't miss the adventure and her travelling friends.

Yet there was so much she truly didn't miss. The deaths and the heartbreak, the pervading scent of musk and blood that seemed to cling to them every which way they travelled, the fear for their lives when they came across a God, a foe truly too great a challenge for them to face.

And here they were, still alive and travelling their separate ways. While Primrose couldn't exactly say she didn't expect this to happen, she had at least thought they'd keep in better contact than simply exchanging letters. Not that she could spare much time to travel now that she was leading house Azelhart and assisting in the rebuilding of Noblecourt's once proud name. Not that Cyrus could leave his post as lead researcher at the Atlasdam academy for much longer than to pay a call to Primrose weekly.

Only last year had the pair began to tentatively dip their toes into a relationship, a chaste and most noble courting as they rationalised to themselves that the emotion they felt to one another was true love. And, yes, it most certainly was love, a most pure and innocent love that left their hearts open to one another, their trust in one another far greater than it was in anyone else, yet it was not the passionate, all consuming love that they had read about in the books. It was simple and quite profound, it still brought dizzying butterflies to their stomach when they thought about one another, yet it contained no lust, no drive for intimacy that the others seemed to have.

And after all she had been through in her life, Primrose was rather grateful for that; and as a man who had often thought himself broken for never feeling that same passionate drive that most men seemed to have, Cyrus was rather relieved to discover that he was still capable of falling in love and having one love him in return.

Not that either of them had any idea what they should do together for their first Steorra's day.

So they'd settled for a day of rest in the forest, away from the struggles of man – or rather the flagrant, sickening displays of love by man – close to one another yet still independent as Cyrus read and Primrose rested, listening only to sounds of the wind, the calls of the wildlife, the distant crashing a waterfall that fed into the gentle bubbling stream.

Quite frankly, this was exactly what she needed.

Still, there was one more thing she wanted to hear, one voice that always rose above the rest and told her the most interesting tales.

"Tell me a story."

"What would you like to hear?" Cyrus asked in response, having heard her request on more than one occasion now, and always more than happy to oblige. "Perhaps a legend of the holiday would be most appropriate?"

"Hm." Primrose hummed in agreement, settling herself more comfortably into her branch. What she truly wanted to hear was what he thought the others were doing this holiday, where he thought they were, whether he thought they were thinking about them too.

Beneath her, Cyrus closed his tome and stared out into the forest, as though he was searching for the words to tell his tale.

"You're not reading the legend from the book?" Primrose asked in confusion, watching as the sun left trailing patterns of leaves across his cloak, lighting him like a spotlight as he began his story.

"I was thinking, perhaps a more modern take on the legend would be more appropriate." He leant back his head and smiled up at her. "I don't suppose you've heard the tale of the Four Lovers?"

"No." Primrose shook her head, shuffling slightly as she watched Cyrus begin his tale.

"According to the legend, Steorra blessed four couples on the first of Her holy days. The first was a pair who had long been in love with one another yet knew not how to communicate it and thus tried desperately to hide their feelings and eventually fought to their almost deaths before going their separate ways. It is said, thanks to Steorra's blessing, the couple eventually found their way back to one another, offered each other their forgiveness and true feelings and fell deep into a loving and supporting relationship."

Deep in the Highlands, the winds that were so gentle in the Flatlands forests were tearing through the mountains as though they were late for an important meeting or battle between themselves that would decide the very fate of the universe itself. Screaming and howling, the winds tore through the mountain towns with such ferocity that all who were sane had locked their doors and windows, resigning themselves to a day inside with their family, friends and loved ones.

The Twin Blades of Hornburg had never exactly been that sane.

Their swords at their sides, the pair cut a path through the monsters and the winds, calling to one another in reassurance when they slipped on a stone knocked loose by the wind and their hands parted, their cloaks buffering in the wind. Ahead, they could see the remnants of the old banners – torn not just in the war but by rocks and stones that had been knocked clear of the surrounding mountains by the constant gales – the broken foundations of the homes of the people they had once protected.

Most months, the pair headed to these deserted grounds of their former Kingdom to clear away the rubble and offer their respects to their former brothers in arms. Today, however, they journeyed deeper into Hornburg in search of something else.

"Do you think it still stands?" Olberic asked, picking his way over the broken foundations of what had once been his favourite tavern, littered glass shards telling a heartbreaking tale of the lost wines and ales.

"Aye." Erhardt nodded, his hand gripping Olberic's tight as memories of the coup – what he now thought of as his greatest mistake – came rushing back all too quickly. "Werner and his men gave strict orders to attack only those on the battlefield, I see no reason why they would have struck there. Save damage from natural causes, I see no reason why it should not still stand."

With memories of years long, long past haunting their every steps like vengeful ghosts, both knights were quiet as they travelled deeper into the heart of former Hornburg, their hearts heavy as they saw more and more houses still standing, covered only in a layer of thick, dusty pebble strewn sand. Here, nestled in a valley and protected by the mountains on all sides, the wind died down into silence. Every loose pebble skidding down the tiles of a nearby roof echoed for seemingly miles; their slow, measured footsteps drowned out only by the loud beating of their hearts in their ears as they saw their old training grounds.

The barracks.

Untouched by even thieves, it was as though time itself had deserted the Hornburg barracks. Some of the windows were broken, the thatched roof was certainly worse for wear and there was a definite lingering stench of rust heavy in the air from the weapons, yet it was still standing, exactly as they remembered it to be all those years ago.

And suddenly old, long forgotten memories returned. The laughter that echoed most nights when all the warriors returned their weapons and took off to their bunks next door, the calls to war that had sung through these halls on that fateful day…

Olberic trailed his fingers across the dusty surfaces, his thoughts lost to the past, remembering his friends long lost to the horrors of war.

"Olberic."

Erhardt's voice snapped him back to reality as he watched his beloved pull a sealed cask of Hornburgian white from a cupboard.

"How did you-?" Olberic asked in surprise, silenced immediately by Erhardt taking his hand with such a childish smile as they headed through to the bunks.

When the winds were silent in the mountains as they were now, Olberic remembered all the dirty little things he and Erhardt had done to one another in these bunks. Young, drunk and foolish, they'd not known how to confess, how to speak to one another openly as they did now. And while one could argue they still had a long way to go in the communication department, that day they didn't need to speak. That day they drank and laughed, they reminisced with embarrassed cheeks… And they found themselves in one another's arms once again, words and laughter all forgotten as they moaned and gasped, heedless of the wind beginning to howl through the broken windows once again.

"The second pair of lovers," Cyrus continued his tale, his head resting gently against the bark of the tree as he closed his eyes, letting the sun soak deep into his skin. "Were an oblivious young gentleman and a pinning lady, so utterly in love with the man that she could not confess her true feelings lest she lose him forever. When a near death experience almost tore the lady from the man forever, his eyes were opened and his feelings revealed. After that day, he dared not to let her stray far from his protecting hand."

"H'AANIT!" Alaic shouted at the top of his lungs as the huntress disappeared from his line of sight, sent flying by the griffon she had been tasked with hunting. Why she'd felt the need to hunt her quarry today of all days, Alaic did not know. Why he'd followed after her into the Cliffland's dense forests as she followed its trail, he couldn't rationalise. Still, here he was, one man with a pair of tiny daggers and mediocre dark magic fighting besides a fierce snow leopard as they tried to save their lady from the beast.

The griffon roared, flapping its mighty wings as it tried to fly into the air, growling as it remembered that H'aanit had pierced its feathers many times for the express purpose of not letting it fly off. In desperation, Alaic cast a spell of pure darkness, binding the beast's beak closed and anchoring its tail to the ground. With a quick gesture, Alaic ordered Linde to pounce and sink her claws into its hamstrings.

Before she could even launch herself from her spot, Linde watched beside the man as the griffon had the crown of its head pierced by an arrow, breaking its beak free of its dark bindings as it let out a mighty, painful scream. With only a second of hesitation, Alaic threw his dagger at the beast's exposed throat, only mildly horrified as it struck the artery and poured blood over him as he recovered his weapon.

Behind him, Linde rushed off into the trees to find her mistress and the mysterious source of the arrow that had felled the beast.

It was strange how used to this Alaic had become over the last year. Since the day the pair had returned to Stillsnow – hand in hand – Susanna had insisted that he assist the huntress on her missions. While he had felt he would only be a burden on H'aanit to start with – and he had – the two soon found themselves fighting in sync, a deadly duo who had been sent to remove all manner of beasts from the top of the food chain many a time now.

But that didn't stop him from worrying about H'aanit every battle. Nor did it stop him from wishing that, just once, they had a day when they could be together as a normal couple, not a pair of hunters.

Soaked to the bone in the griffon's blood, Alaic sighed and started his heavy trudge into the trees after Linde and his lost huntress.

In truth, he was not nearly as frustrated by all this hunting as he appeared on the surface – in fact he rather enjoyed it, the thrill of the battle, the satisfaction of vanquishing a foe he had thought impossible to best. However, no matter how much one enjoys something, one still enjoys days off, a day to oneself with their lover by their side as they relax into one another's embrace. What he wouldn't give to simply sit before a fire, H'aanit's head resting softly against his chest as he braided her hair for her once again, Linde purring quietly by their feet as H'aanit told tales of her travels with the others…

"H'aanit?" He called into the forest, pushing back branches as he followed the track of disturbed leaves and broken twigs. The griffon had certainly been a powerful beast to have sent her flying so far back. And while his fast pulse certainly gave the impression that he was fearful of finding her dead against a tree, the fact that she had shot the beast certainly lead him to believe she was still alive.

So he followed the trail until he arrived at the nearby river, unsurprised to find Linde chasing fish in the current as H'aanit watched with a soft smile. "Mine apologies for worrying thee."

"At least you gave me a sign that you were still alive this time." Alaic sighed, a smile hidden behind the blood on his face as he presented a collection of bloodied griffon pinions to her. "Proof of your victory and perhaps a gift to your apothecary friend."

"Hmm." H'aanit took the feathers by their bloodless tips, looking them over in curiosity before she wrapped them in cloth and placed them near her weapons. "I doe not knowen if griffon feathers haveth medicinal qualities."

"It'll be nice to see Alfyn again," Alaic dropped his daggers next to H'aanit's weapons, staring into the other side of the river bank besides her, wondering once again what thoughts were running around her head. Upstream, Linde was paddling under a waterfall, greatly enjoying the sensation of water rushing over her fur. "It's been a while since we last stopped by Clearbrook."

"Indeed." H'aanit sighed slightly. "I supposen today he and Ophilia will ben celebrating together."

"Right, Steorra's day." Alaic nodded, rubbing his hand through his bloody hair and immediately looking down at his caked hand in disgust.

"I wishened..." Quietly, H'aanit laughed to herself. "I wishened to celebraten with thee today."

"There's still time." Alaic smiled, understanding the sadness behind her eyes now. Though fantastic at many things, H'aanit still struggled with expressing herself and her emotions.

This past year, Alaic had come to discover how H'aanit expressed herself through her actions – such as baking for him or pulling him in for a kiss after a particularly hard fought, terrifying battle – and had started to express himself in a similar manner, one that he hoped would put her at ease. It was clear she had not had much interaction with people outside of the Woodlands, let alone men in general, and while she understood the language, the nuances of human interaction and traditions such as Steorra's day still flew a little far over her head. A former assassin himself, Alaic was not necessarily the picture of a normal, functional human, but he was able to navigate conversations with troublesome clients for H'aanit when necessary.

"Nay," H'aanit shook her head, looking at her partner with such sadness as she took his hand. "I had wanted… To given thee a moste peaceful, restful day as a gift. Then I hearden tale of the griffon and…"

"H'aanit." Alaic couldn't stop his smile, his grin as he realised she had at least remembered the day and had the intention to celebrate it. "There is still plenty of time for us to rest celebrate the day."

"And honouren Steorra's tradition?"

"While the tradition itself has been mostly bastardised over the years since the age of the Gods, I believe that most of the honouring of traditions comes later into the night."

"Aye?" H'aanit raised a knowing eyebrow, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as Alaic leant in for a kiss, only to be ducked away from. "Forgiven me, mine love, but thou art covered in blood."

It was as though H'aanit mentioning the blood reminded him of how coated in it he was, weighing him back down to mulchy forest floor like an anchor. Looking from his bloodied hands to the river, Alaic chuckled. "I suppose I should clean off."

"Woulde-" H'aanit cleared her throat as she watched Alaic remove his coat and shirt, a blush incredibly bright on her cheeks as she asked, "Woulde thou minden terribly… If I joined thee?"

Alaic couldn't stop the blush creeping to his bloodied cheeks any more than H'aanit could as he offered her his hand. "Not at all, love."

There had been a time in his life, not all that long ago in the grand scheme of time, that Alaic had become convinced that he was unlovable. From the copious amount of blood that decorated his hands from his years as an assassin to the all the more obvious and permanent reminder of that time that adorned his shoulder blade to this very day, Alaic had found himself becoming more and more certain that none would want to walk the world with him by their side. Then H'aanit had appeared before him in Stillsnow, so eager to see Susanna that she bested him in combat and tore open his silenced lips. Soon he found that all that came tumbling from them was embarrassing words as he fell deeper and deeper in love with the huntress who had appeared before him, a huntress who's friend finally took a weight off his mind and removed the horrible man that had haunted his every step all these years.

A woman who had saved his life and made him promise that he would never put himself in danger again as she'd cried.

Yes, it had been over a year since they fought Galdera, a year since they had come to discover their feelings for one another, yet everyday it seemed as though something new happened to remind them once again why they love the person by their side. And the leopard at their feet.

"The third couple were total opposites to one another," Cyrus continued, lost to his stories as Primrose watched him from on high. "A benevolent King known for his kindness to all, his charity in giving back to the common folk and a thieving harlot, known for killing her clients and stealing to survive. Steorra saw something between the two of them, a magnetism that drew them to one another, allowed them to fall in love all at once and oh so quickly as they realised they weren't so opposite after all."

"You fool!" Therion shouted at her as he carried Tressa out the seaside cave, watching as she blasted another shot of wind behind them into the cave opening, deterring the monsters that had tried to follow them.

"I'm fine, Therion!" Tressa shouted back at him, squirming in his grip as she tried to free herself and stand. Of course, she wasn't actually fine, a Birdian had shot her square in the knee and she wasn't entirely sure if she could stand unaided. But she sure as hell wasn't going to let him carry her everywhere. "Put me down."

"You really think you can stand on your own?" Therion asked her in a condescending tone, though he was certainly far more worried about her than he appeared.

"Well, I won't know if you don't put me down." Tressa said petulantly, crossing her arms in anger as he finally sighed and eased her to the floor. "Thank you."

Almost immediately, Tressa fell to her knees, her face contorted in agony as she held back her scream.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Therion sighed, helping her back to her feet and supporting her as she tried to stand. "Do you want me to carry you again?"

"Yes please." With a tiny, pain-filled voice, Tressa allowed herself to be carried by Therion yet again.

This wasn't how she'd expected her day to go. Last Steorra's day, the pair of them had sat not much further up the Moonstruck coast than they were stood now, resting together as they watched the sunset and prepared themselves for meeting their friends in Noblecourt in a few days time. Today, they'd both wanted to do something different, the scent of treasure and adventure leading them deep into the cave and face to face with a Leviathan and its army of Birdians.

And of course she'd jumped in front of an arrow for him, completely heedless of the danger with only the certainty in her mind that if she did not take this attack Therion would. And she didn't want him to be hurt, never again.

This last year, he'd started to tell her more and more tales from his past, stories of what had occurred when he'd travelled besides his old partner, Darius. Stories of the abuse he'd endured from the man he'd loved before her, before he'd been thrown clean off a cliff for disappointing him.

And with every story, Tressa learnt about another one of his many scars, both those that covered his body and his psyche. With every story, Tressa found herself promising him – through tears – that she would never hurt him, that she would never put him in danger. She would stand by his side as long as he would have her, his beacon of sunshine to illuminate his future and force those old days even further into the darkness of his path.

"Wait." Tressa said as Therion carried her passed the spot they'd sat last year, the spot in which they'd finally said those words they both knew yet had alluded them all those months they'd fallen slowly into their emotions and one another's arms. From this spot, they could see far, far out into the open sea, watching as the sun setting painted the waves a peach and illuminated Orsterra for a final few hours, stretching out the mountain's reflections into the waves. "Let's stop."

Therion was silent as he watched the light in the waves, as he realised where they stood and when they had last stopped here together. "Alright. This seems as good a spot as any to set up for the night."

Slowly and gently, he lowered Tressa to the sand, making sure she was comfortable before he left her alone in search of driftwood for their fire. So often had the two of them stopped on the road now that Tressa no longer feared the dark nor the ghost stories that Therion told her in an attempt to frighten her, for she knew he was never far from her. She knew that, no matter how much she wanted to protect him, he wanted to protect her with the same ferocity.

It was actually rather impressive how much the couple had grown this past year, with each other every step of the way as they grew to even more impressive people. They might not see their friends as much anymore, but whenever they did they were met with remarks of surprise as they learnt that the couple as still strong, still continuing to make each other stronger.

Tressa herself had to admit it was rather strange, she was still so young and innocent after all. Yet here she was, walking the world with a hardened thief who had faced far more hardship in his life than she hoped she ever would. But... she couldn't imagine a world without him by her side, a world where he was not the person that she loved and cared for the most.

There were tears in her eyes when Therion returned with the driftwood pile, dropping it carelessly on the floor and lighting it with a single incantation of wildfire.

"Tressa?" Kneeling besides her, Therion watched her silently cry in complete confusion. "Are you in that much pain?"

"No, I." Blubbering, Tressa sobbed into her hands. "I love you!"

"I know?" Therion couldn't help but laugh as he pulled a ream of bandages from his bag. "I love you too, sunshine. What's with the shouting?"

"I just…" Tressa gently pulled her legging up and over her knee, shocked by how much it had already swollen, how badly it was already bruised. "We're so different."

"I know." Therion sucked the air through his teeth as he saw Tressa's knee. "Let me know if this hurts."

"Do you ever worry-" Tressa yelped as Therion poured alcohol into her wound to clean it, nodding silently as she bit her lip as she begged him to continue. _It'll only hurt worse if it's not treated._ She reminded herself as she continued. "Do you ever worry that we're too different?"

"No." Therion replied simply, with such certainty that it caught her off guard as he started to wrap the bandage around her knee, careful not to trap any sand in the folds.

"No?"

"No." He repeated, settling in besides her as they watched the waves go out together.

"Why not?" Why this question had come to her now, of all days, Tressa could not explain. But she… She had to know.

"How do I put this…?" Therion wondered aloud, pulling Tressa in to rest her head on his shoulder as he thought. "I have never met anyone who would protect me as much as you would, sunshine. And sometimes you take it to extremes, most of the time I don't need your protection at all. But… Just the fact that you would protect me, put your life before mine… I care for you deeply, Tressa."

"I see." Tressa smiled as she sniffed, crying for an entirely different reason now as Therion took her hat and placed it on his own head, allowing the gentle sea breeze to blow through her short locks.

"There's more, of course." Therion continued, his eyes lost to the waves. After all this time, she still rarely heard him speak so much, so emotionally, so she could only sit silently and listen before he got too embarrassed to carry on. "You know how to make me laugh, what stories to tell to truly fool me, you continue to wear that necklace I got you when we travelled with the others and you still carry that little stone you found the day you asked me out because you believe it brings good luck. You've listened to the worst of my stories and yet you continue to walk besides me as my partner, my personal ray of sunshine to lighten the darkest days."

"Therion..." Turning as carefully as she could on her injured knee, Tressa couldn't say she was surprised to find he couldn't meet her eye, that he was blushing perhaps brighter now than she'd ever seen him blush before. So she smiled, chuckled under her breath and leant further into his shoulder as the sky started to turn dark. "Thank you."

"And the fourth couple," leaning to the side, Cyrus didn't even open his eyes as Primrose finally jumped down from her place in the branches, settling onto the ground next to him silently as he opened his cloak for her to nestle in. "They were friends for a long time before Steorra met them. They were close, very very close, everyone around them saw how perfect they were together, everyone but the pair themselves. Until one day Steorra herself intervened."

The air in Clearbrook was still and strangely humid for a late winter night. There were no bugs in the air and the snakes were still deep in hibernation, so the only sounds that graced the town that night were those of the natives, celebrating Steorra's day together as the night drew onwards.

Zeph was off in Atlasdam that week, spending the holiday with his beloved Mercedes as she continued her work at the library. To the north of the continent, Eliza and Liana had spent the day together in silent restfulness, a day for them to shirk their duties and simply be with other another.

Here in Clearbrook, Alfyn had gone about his daily duties with Ophilia by his side. With their smiles and laughter greeting everyone at their doors, it was almost as though the sick were healed before they even had to apply a salve. It really was rather impressive to see two people completely in sync as they healed and drifted through the streets. It was rather impressive to see people working on Steorra's day.

Not that the two didn't intend to celebrate – Steorra's day was also their anniversary after all – but they both knew their day wouldn't start until the moon was high in the sky and the streets were long deserted. So they made their way to the bridge late that night, bundled together in a blanket as they watched the reflection of the moon ripple gently in the waves.

"Y'know," Alfyn rested his chin on Ophilia's head as he stared at the moon's reflection. "I used to tell Ma that I could pick the moon up with my hand when I was young."

"Really?" Ophilia chuckled, imaging a young Alfyn excitedly telling his mother just that.

"Yeah." He laughed to himself. "I used to grab a handful of water from the river, hold it under the moon's reflection and show Ma."

"How did she react?"

"She'd chuckle and ruffle my hair, tell me how clever I was."

It was almost imperceptible, but Ophilia felt his shoulders stiffen behind her. "I know how much you must miss her."

"I just wish..." Alfyn sighed as he rested his cheek against her head. "I wish she could've met you."

"Me?!" Ophilia exclaimed in surprise, turning in his arms to look up at his face.

"Is there somethin' wrong with that?" Alfyn asked her, grinning from ear to ear. "Who wouldn't want to introduce their Ma to their gorgeous girlfriend?"

"Alf, you're making me blush." Ophilia laughed in embarrassment as she buried her face into his chest. Even after all their time together this past year, compliments still managed to catch her off guard. Though they rather caught him off guard too, and that surprised little gasp he made when he realised she was completely sincere… "Besides, I think she would be rather more impressed with how charming her son grew up to be. For if he's dating a 'gorgeous woman' he must be something rather special himself."

There it was, that surprised little gasp as he squeezed her tight and they both let out embarrassed little laughs. How on earth had they gotten so lucky? To find one's perfect match on this continent, to have the privilege of travelling around the world with them and make history with them… They both knew they'd struck gold, that they had something no amount of wealth could buy.

"Hey, Lia?"

"Yes, Alf?"

"Happy anniversary."

Snuggling closer to his chest, Ophilia felt her grin might well split her face in two. "Happy anniversary, Alfyn."

"I wonder," Primrose muttered aloud as Cyrus opened his eyes to watch the sunlight and leaves make merry patterns across Primrose's exposed skin. "Did Steorra Herself ever find love?"

"I do not know." Cyrus shook his head, pulling out his tome of legends once again. "There's certainly no tale of Her ever finding a lover in here."

"Some say the Gods still walk the land." Primrose mumbled, made sleepy by the story and the cosiness of Cyrus' cloak. Seriously, how did he walk around in this all day without wanting to fall asleep? "That They're waiting for a worthy challenger to appear before them in their shrines."

"Merely a folk law, my love." Cyrus chuckled slightly as she rested her head against the bark of the tree. "I have visited Alephan's Shrine on more than one occasion and have never met the Scholar King."

"I visited Sealticge's shrine in the Sunlands once too, can't say I met her there when I did."

"Some legends are just legends." Cyrus said as he closed his eyes besides Primrose, lulled at last to sleep by the calling of the wind through the leaves.

"Thou art brave, Child, to challenge Me on this day."

"I know." Kit smiled up at the figure of the Goddess before him. He'd travelled around the continent many times this year, all in search of this shrine in particular. The shrine of the Starseer. "However, I didn't want you to be lonely."

"Lonely?" The commanding voice asked in curiosity, Her confusion echoing through every corridor of the cave.

"No one likes to spend today alone. I suspect You like to spend it alone the least of all of us." From his bag, Kit pulled a simple bound tome. On its cover was the symbol before him, the mark of the Starseer Herself. "Would You like to hear what legends the people tell about You?"

"Thou would spend today with Me?" Steorra appeared before him, her eyes bound and body as light as the air itself.

"If you'd like me to."

Emotions seemed not to register on Her calm face, but Kit could feel it, Her smile. "Tell me the tales, Child. The tales they tell of My day."


	90. Hornburgian History

_I wanted to say a quick thank you for over 50,000 views! It's absolutely insane to me to think that people are still reading Travel On a year and a half after it started! And to MrGoodStuff who left a review as a guest this week, since I can't message you directly to say thanks, I just wanted to tell you that I read your review after a difficult 12 hour shift at work and it brightened my mood so much!_

 _Anyway, today's story is a little on the angsty, tragedy side of things, it's been a little while since I last wrote something like this. It's not really a tragedy, but it does feature some stronger than usual language and blood/gore mentions._

* * *

 _Cyrus' idle curiosity about the fall of Hornburg earns him a story from Olberic, one the warrior wished to never tell._

* * *

Hornburgian History

They'd been travelling together a while now as part of this group of adventurers, however, Cyrus had still not found the time to ask the question that had been on his mind since Olberic had joined them.

There were, of course, many questions that Cyrus sought answers to being a scholar and all. Normally, he would turn to his tomes, his library and his colleagues to find those answers. However, whatever knowledge they had to share had been learnt second hand, they had not experienced the history they spoke of. And while Olberic himself had not experienced the history of Hornburg and its religions that Cyrus so wished to know more of, he had played a hand in its more recent history.

Cyrus certainly wanted to learn all he could about the coup that brought down so old and distinguished a Kingdom, he simply hadn't found the right time to ask.

That was until he and Olberic found themselves alone together in a stopping off inn-tavern on their way to Victors Hollow. With a few tankards under his belt, Cyrus was sure he could open Olberic's lips and hear all that had transpired a near decade ago.

"You are not subtle, Scholar." Olberic sighed into his mug as Cyrus paid for the third round.

"Whatever do you mean, my good man?" Cyrus feigned ignorance as he toyed with the stem of his own wine glass.

"Whatever question you may have for me, I would suggest you ask it soon, afore my head becomes too clouded with your drinks to find my thoughts."

"Are my intentions truly so obvious?" Cyrus sighed himself, a little disappointed that he'd been so easily found out.

"Aye. Out with it, Scholar."

"Very well." Pulling an empty tome from his cape, Cyrus looked Olberic square in the eye as he asked, "I hope it is not rude of me to pry, however I would like to learn all I can about the day that Hornburg fell."

A definite twist of discomfort came to Olberic's face as he was asked to recall such painful memories and any man not in desperate pursuit of knowledge would likely have had the common sense to back off. Cyrus, however, continued to stare into Olberic's face as the man turned away, sighing into his tankard once again. "Why?"

"Why? Why, to learn more about how a nation with such a grand history can be lost so completely in but one short week!"

"The ladies often say that you have no concept of how your actions affect the emotions of those around you."

"They do?" Cyrus asked in interest, turning slightly in his seat to look in the direction of their rooms for the night.

"I am starting to understand why they say such a thing."

"I… see." Cyrus cleared his throat and closed his tome, realising what an insensitive thing it was he was asking of the knight. "You need not answer my question, if you do not want to."

"Nay, I will answer your question." Olberic shook his head with a sigh. "However, do not say I did not warn you."

Cyrus only nodded, his tome still closed as he stared into Olberic once more, ready to absorb all the knowledge he could.

"We received our orders from his Majesty King Alfred himself. Under his orders and guidance, we were to set out onto the battlefield immediately to save the Kingdom from those who would wish to destroy it. We were not told whom our enemies were, as knights and warriors such information was often not required, however such a lack of knowledge left us woefully unprepared when we faced our foes. For they wore the faces of our friends and fellow knights, yet they fought to end both ours and his Majesty's life. As his Majesty's right hand, I was tasked with leading the main faction of our force into battle. Tell me, Scholar, have you fought against former allies on a battlefield before?"

"Ah, no." Cyrus shook his head. "I have read extensively on the subject, however I have not experienced it myself."

"Then you are lucky, for the texts often leave out the worst of it." Out the corner of his eye, Olberic stared Cyrus down. "Would you like me to tell you what the tomes do not?"

"Y-Yes." There was a hesitancy to his voice that Cyrus simply could not hide. He had to know, for without this knowledge how could he inform his students of the mistakes that haunt history? The mistakes they were almost certainly doomed to make once again. "I must know."

"Imagine you are on a battlefield surrounded by hundreds upon thousands of people, all of whom are screaming, shouting and bleeding. The air is full not only of the screams of man and the swings of metal, but also the stenches of rust, sweat and shit. Every way you turn, there is another blade pointed at your head, ready to sever it, to kill and move on to its next victim without even a second hesitation. All one can do is fight to survive, to protect oneself by killing one's would be assailant first.

"I was sought after more than most of my comrades due to my proximity to the throne. As such I…" Olberic's fist tightened around his tankard. "I killed many more friendly faces that day than I have killed enemy faces since. In their last moments of life, I watched as their faces twisted and they realised they had made a most terrible mistake, all before they fell to the ground."

"Olberic, you need not-" Cyrus started, realising what a grave mistake he'd in asking Olberic this question. Olberic didn't hear him, he simply carried on his tale.

"My men heralded me a hero, I fought with the might of a score of men even on this battlefield, even against this foe. Yet there was one… One whom I could not best, despite having done so many a time in the training ground before. Erhardt. The left hand to my right, my partner and brother in arms… I watched as he..." Olberic cleared his throat, his eyes a million miles away as he remembered the day. "As he stabbed King Alfred, as he tore his life away. And then came at me, with great conviction and determination, with a sword still covered in his Majesty's blood. By the time I fell, I too was covered in his Majesty's blood. And when I woke, all that surrounded me were the dead bodies of my comrades, friend and newly turned foe alike."

"Olberic-"

"Tell me, Scholar," Olberic finished his drink and turned towards Cyrus with great tears hiding behind his eyes. "Does such a tale sate your curiosity? Or would you like me to carry on? To tell you how I had to burn the dead for there was not enough room to bury them? To tell you how the smell of their burning bodies made me ravenous for they smelt far more delicious than the ratkin I had been dining on since the fall? Would you like me to tell you how I nearly ran myself through with my sword when I first woke up?"

"N-No." Cyrus stammered, at a complete loss for words. "I think… I think you have shared more than enough."

"Your curiosity will be the death of you, Scholar." Olberic sighed once more as he stood, dropped a handful of leaves on the bar as a tip and left Cyrus behind as he shook.

Such a tale… It did not answer Cyrus' curiosity about the fall of Hornburg, instead it rather left him feeling hollow and empty, broken and battered mentally as he struggled to his shaking feet.


	91. Blinding

_Slightly early update since I'm not about tomorrow morning._

* * *

 _Even after the near death experience Lianna had inflicted on her, Ophilia was still determined to forgive her sister, to bring her back to the light._

* * *

Blinding

"Li… anna..." Ophilia managed to croak her sister's name between gasps for air once again, her nails digging into the flooring beneath her as she tried to pull herself to the door, to do anything more than simply lay face first on the ground.

Her lungs felt as though they were on fire, burning with icy cold pin-pricks whenever she tried to breathe, every other breath caught in her swelling throat. Within her chest, her heartbeat felt as though it was hammering a mile a minute, thrumming through her veins and deep into her temples, blinding her in pain far worse than the concoction was inhibiting her sight. With limbs that felt at once too heavy and too light, Ophilia couldn't find the strength to stand, to pull herself along, to do anything but struggle for breath as her senses failed.

The last thing she recalled was a light breaking through the darkness that had become her vision, a light most blinding that appeared with the slamming charge of an opening door…

She could not say how long she slept, not that sleep was necessarily what she was doing. It certainly didn't feel like she had slept when at last she opened her scratchy eyes onto the horrifying bright world, closing them immediately as she struggled against the light. Her lungs felt dry, prickly as though they had been drained after an experience of near drowning and her limbs still felt weighted down by anchors, if anchors could indeed weigh down jelly. At least her heartbeat had now stabilised and, as she opened her eyes more gingerly, it seemed as though she had regained her sight.

As her head rushed into overdrive, hurriedly trying to piece together where exactly she was, what exactly had happened, Ophilia couldn't help but groan in pain. The fire that had nearly destroyed her insides was gone, true, but so was the fire that had driven her onwards in her quest. That Lianna would do this to her, that Josef was…

"Sister Ophilia?" A quiet voice immediately grasped her attention, pulling her up as she struggled to see the voice's owner. "Please do not strain yourself, Sister."

"Bishop Donovan?" Ophilia managed to croak, immediately falling into a fit of coughs as she struggled into a seated position.

"Please, Sister, rest." Donovan gently pushed her into her pillows, offering her a cool glass of water that she gratefully drank. "I did not think you would wake so soon."

"What..?" Ophilia gasped out before resigning herself to her resting position, speaking seemed impossible, every word dragged like a hook against her throat.

"I believe you were given a powerful concoction, Sister," Donovan began mixing together some foul-smelling soup. "Had I not found you when I did… I shudder to think what may have happened."

"The… The flame."

"It has been stolen, I'm afraid." Donovan shook his head. "I suspect that whoever did this to you, they did it to steal the Lanthorn."

"Oh, Lianna..." Ophilia sighed, a sudden desire to cry welling up inside her as she started to pull at her blankets. "I must-"

"You must rest, Sister." Donovan insisted, pushing her gently back down as he offered her the soup he'd made. "Rest and recover, we can plan a course of action once you are well again."

"No. I-"

"Ophilia." Donovan looked her square in the eye as he ordered her not to move once again. "Rest."

So she did, begrudgingly admitting that doing so would make her far more able to recover the Lanthorn than she was now. However, her every dream that week she rested was full only of darkness and death, a deep purple flame wandering the darkness as it sought out its master, to turn everything in Orsterra to the darkness it coveted. And the person carrying the flame, leading people to the darkness, away from the light… It was Lianna, drapped in cleric garbs as dark as the flame she carried.

That Lianna would do this… Ophilia couldn't imagine how she felt, how deeply affected by grief she was to feel as though this was the path she should walk. To follow the so called 'Saviour' who had likely promised her all manner of impossibilities. Who had likely promised her he could return her father to the land of the living once again.

Slowly, far slower than she liked, Ophilia started to stand again, to walk about her inn room and make her own food. There were days when eating seemed only to bring up the foul concoction that had put her in this state, harming her more than the food was helping; other days it felt as though she couldn't eat enough, that all of Goldshore's stores couldn't satisfy her hunger.

And all the while she did all she could to remember what Lianna and the 'Saviour' she followed had said. They were to go to Wispermill to carry out some most forbidden ritual, to resurrect the dead most likely. That the world had not turned yet to darkness gave Ophilia hope that they had not carried out their ritual yet, that when at last she was able to stand and travel once again she would find her sister and talk her out of making such a grave mistake. That she wouldn't be able to do so, what would happen if she failed… Ophilia had no time for such negative thoughts, she had to retrieve the Lanthorn, she had to finish the Kindling rite that she'd set out on. She had to stop Lianna, to bring her back to the light.

Even as she left the inn and Goldshore, a week later than she would have liked, Ophilia had no idea what she was going to do or how she was going to do it. She simply set out for the Flatlands, following the determined fire in her heart once more.


	92. To Put a Price on Help

_Tressa just can't understand Alfyn's refusal to charge for his apothecarial services._

* * *

To Put a Price on Help

Days alone were few and far between for the travellers, even so soon into their journeys, so they were always sure to make the most of them. Upon seeing the natural state of the fields surrounding the village they were resting in, Alfyn had immediately decided to take his day off alone, searching for wild herbs to refill his stocks. Such peace and quiet was quite the luxury, and Alfyn soon found himself completely relaxed into the soft sounds of the wind rushing through the grass, the gentle chirping of birds, the soft, shaking sound of nearby snakes...

"Hey, Alfyn?"

"By Aelfric's-" Alfyn exclaimed, his hand flying to his chest as he turned to face Tressa. "You scared the livin' daylights outa me, Tressa!"

"Oops, sorry." Tressa chuckled, that sly grin of hers suggesting she'd hoped to make him jump with her sudden appearance. He'd just wanted one day alone and away from the other travellers, one day that he could take alone in the fields to forage for local flora. One day with out Tressa's constant questions. "I just wanted to ask you-"

Alfyn couldn't contain his sigh. It wasn't that he didn't like answering Tressa's and the others questions, but just once…

"Oh, I'm sorry." Tressa turned, her arms crossed petulantly. "Don't you want to help your old pal out by answering her questions?"

"Tress, I've known you for the better part of two moons and, I mean, I love travellin' with you and the others, but…" Alfyn sighed again as he looked up at her, his words coming out in a rush on his exhale. "You ask a lotta questions."

"Well… I'm travelling to learn as much as I can about the world," Tressa turned back, twisting the hem of her skirt in her hands. "If I don't ask questions, how am I going to learn?"

Stifling another sigh and accepting that his day wasn't going to be as quiet as he'd hoped, Alfyn offered her his widest grin. "When you put it like that, how's a guy to say no?"

"Great!" Tressa bounced back from her feigned disappointment immediately as she pulled out her notebook. "Now, what I wanted to ask was-"

"If you're lookin' for plant names and habitats and whatnot, you're better off askin' the Prof."

"Oh, no, not that." Tressa shook her head, turning to look over her shoulder slightly angrily as she mumbled, "Professor Albright won't let me ask him any more questions today, anyway."

"Oh?"

"No, I wanted to ask you about your philosophy." Tressa turned back to him with a grin, thankfully unable to read Alfyn's thoughts as he wondered what the Professor had said to her to get the girl to leave him alone for the day.

"My philosophy?" He couldn't help but ask in response, Tressa's question leaving him confused as always.

"Yeah!" Tressa gestured out into the field before pointing at the buds Alfyn had been foraging at his feet. "You collect all the ingredients for your potions-"

"Concoctions."

"-out here in the wild for free," Tressa continued over his correction. "You refuse to let me and Therion haggle you a bargain for any herbs that you buy from travelling merchants, but you almost always refuse payment for your medicine. And any payment that you do get you spend almost all of it immediately on food and drink, saving just enough to get you a room at the next village inn, what gives?"

"What gives?"

"Yeah!" Tressa nodded, watching as Alfyn turned back to picking buds at his feet. "You'd probably be a millionaire by now if you charged for your potions!"

"Concoctions." Alfyn absently corrected again as he held a bud up for Tressa to see. "Do you know what this is, Tress?"

"It's an olive bloom." Tressa nodded to herself. "I could sell it for a couple hundred leaves."

"Yep. But do you know what it does?"

"It can be used to revive someone when they collapse, right?"

"Yep." Alfyn nodded again, opening Zeph's satchel and pulling out his box of olive blooms. "Do you know how?"

Tressa paused for a moment, clearly deep in thought, before she finally shook her head. "Nope, how'd you use it?"

"Well, if you were to use it alone, nothin' would happen." Alfyn chuckled lightly to himself. "Actually, you might make the person who collapsed even sicker if you gave it to them as it was."

"So you grind it up then?"

"In part, yes." Alfyn pulled another box from his satchel, showing Tressa the ground seeds inside it. "But you have to mix it with some of these in boilin' water to bring out their healin' properties."

"See, see! That's what I mean!" Tressa shouted, pointing at the items in the satchel as Alfyn started to grind up the new olive blooms for his box. "If you were to make up your healing potions and have me sell them, we'd be rich!"

"Concoctions, and I still don't think you're gettin' it, Tress." Alfyn shook his head before thinking to himself. "How 'bout this, say your parents were sick, how much would you pay to make them better?"

"All the leaves I had." Tressa answered, not missing a beat.

"Exactly." Alfyn nodded in agreement. "But now that you know that everythin' we apothecaries use to heal most illnesses we forage for free or buy for a couple hundred leaves, how would you feel if I charged like 5000 leaves to heal your family?"

"Well… I would understand that you'd have to make a living..." There was a doubtful tone to Tressa's voice. "Are all your tonics made with simple ingredients and boiled water?"

"Pretty much." Alfyn nodded. "They all cost me next to nothin' to make, most people could make cures to common illnesses themselves if they know how."

"Do you teach them? When you heal your patients, I mean?"

"Yep." Alfyn nodded, returning his pestle, mortar and boxes back to their rightful spots in the satchel. "Do you get it now?"

"I guess?" Tressa shook her head, still not quite understanding his logic it seemed, not that he could blame her. She was a merchant, someone who had been raised to believe in the power of leaves. Ever since he'd met that apothecary all those years ago, Alfyn hadn't felt the need to accumulate wealth, just enough to get him from town to town as all he needed, and that was easily done by selling off his excess ingredients to shops in those towns.

"Makin' a profit at the expense of someone's health just don't sit right with me, Tress." Alfyn said simply, stretching as he looked out into the field, making a mental assessment of the layout and what other herbs he might find hidden in the grass. "If someone's really insistent that they pay me, I'm hardly goin' to turn them down. But I'm certainly not goin' to ask, seein' the happy faces of my healed patients is all the payment I need!"

For a moment, Tressa was completely silent, clearly lost to thought. Finally, she shook her head. "We're very different people, Alfyn."

"Are you sayin' you'd charge folks if you were an apothecary, then?"

"No..." Tressa shook her head once more before letting out a groan. "Thanks for answering my question, Alfyn. I guess..."

"We're all different and have different ways we go about our business, Tressa. Just because I'd do it one way and you'd do it another doesn't mean one's right or wrong." Alfyn flashed her a grin before she turned and started heading back towards town and the others. "Consider that a lesson from your old pal, Alfyn!"

Tressa couldn't hide her laughing smile as she turned away, her question answered and her mind somewhat at ease, but Alfyn did have to wonder how challenging the girl would find this adventure of hers if such a simple question gave her such pause for thought. Not that he thought any more on it that day as he headed deeper into the field in search of more herbs and hopefully no snakes.


	93. Beyond the Village

_You've probably noticed that I've written a lot of these 'collecting secondary characters for the Gate of Finis' stories. The reason for that will become clear soon..._

* * *

 _It would take something truly monumental to make Zeph leave Clearbrook without an apothecary._

* * *

Beyond the Village

There were many things that Zeph admired about Alfyn. From his selflessness and compassionate way of dealing with his patients to his willingness to put his own life in danger to save another's… Well, that he didn't admire quite so much, just once he wished Alfyn would think before he threw himself into another dangerous battle… Yet, he supposed, all those incidents with the local snakes, bats and salamanders had prepared him quite well for this journey he'd set out on this last year.

Because, really, there was only quality of Alfyn's that Zeph was truly envious of: his wanderlust. Or, perhaps, that was putting it the wrong way. It wasn't so much that Zeph was jealous that Alfyn wanted to travel, but more that he was jealous that he was able to. With Nina here in the village and all of Clearbrook relying on just one apothecary, Zeph didn't have much opportunity to leave the village in search of herbs, much less leave to go on a journey as Alfyn had.

Even if he had the ability to travel, to leave the village on an adventure secure in the knowledge that someone would be taking care of everything while he was gone as Alfyn was, he wouldn't know where to go, what to do. Would he set out to heal the world as Alfyn had or would he set out in search of difficult to procure ingredients that he could bring back home and use to save even more lives? Or would he simply travel, setting out far beyond the borders of Orsterra in search of the edge of the world or undiscovered lands?

Those thoughts too reminded him how envious he was of Alfyn. Alfyn had known exactly what he wanted to do, exactly who's path he wanted to follow. And Zeph… All Zeph wanted to do was keep Nina safe, from any and all harm.

Which was why his decision to follow Alfyn to the Gate of Finis was a far easier one to make than one might think.

It was late the night that Alfyn returned that he asked the question. They'd gone around the village together with Nina, giving everyone their check ups and teaching Nina the basics of the life of an apothecary, and had heard all of Alfyn's exciting stories from his travels. To hear that he'd finally learnt the name of the man who'd saved him all those years ago, that he'd saved a man that Graham had also wanted to save… To hear in hushed whispers to Zeph alone that he'd read his letter, that he'd taken a life…

Everything Alfyn told them sounded almost too fantastical to be true. Their friend and partner, the little kid who'd almost died and was now alive with more stories than ever to tell… It almost felt like he was a completely different person now than when he'd left.

Then Zeph watched him refused payment yet again and drink what little the villagers had given them at the tavern and everything seemed to return to normal. That was, until Alfyn stopped him on the bridge in the middle of town on their way back home.

"Hey, Zeph, I've gotta question for you." Alfyn suddenly asked, stopping in his tracks a few steps behind him as he looked into the river.

"What is it, Alf?" Zeph retraced his steps to stand by his friend's side, staring into the river besides him and hoping he could perhaps see what he was thinking in the gentle current.

"Wanna come with me when I set out again tomorrow?"

"You're leaving so soon?" Zeph couldn't help but ask, he'd only just gotten back after all!

"Yeah..." Alfyn refused to meet his eye, scratching the back of his neck as he clearly tried to think of a way to say something difficult. It wasn't often that Alfyn hesitated with him, they told each other everything after all. Whatever was on his mind was clearly something most concerning indeed…

"What's going on, Alf? Why are you leaving so soon?"

"There…" Alfyn sighed and shook his head. "There was another traveller we met on our journey. He didn't travel with us, we just helped him however we could when we crossed paths. And now it looks like he's gotten himself caught up in something bad."

"So you're going to save him?" Zeph asked, a smile coming to his face. That was just like Alfyn, to worry about anyone but himself.

"Yeah. But..." Alfyn's hands tightened on the bridge fencing. "Ophilia and the Professor both think… Well, they think he's bein' used as the vessel for Galdera."

"The Dark God?!" Zeph exclaimed. "Alf, do you have any idea-"

"That's why I need your help." Alfyn turned to him with a smile. "If this is true and Galdera rises, Orsterra's goin' quite literally to hell. Can you come with us, help us take the God down?"

"Alfyn, what you're asking of me…" Zeph shook his head. "If what you say is true, I cannot risk leaving Nina now."

Alfyn sighed and turned back to look into the river. It was the same river they'd gone rafting in as children, the same river they now got their water from for their concoctions. Yet right now, this night, Zeph could see that river, the river that had sustained the entire village for longer than Zeph dared to count, disappear in the blink of an eye as Galdera raised His head, taking the lives of all those who depended on it.

"I suspected you'd say as much." Alfyn shook his head before turning to look at Zeph again. "But, there's a lot more than one life on the line here, Zeph."

"I know, Alf. I know, I just..." Now it was Zeph's turn to avoid his gaze and stare deep into the river. "What possible help can I be? I can barely swing my axe."

"We need as many healers as we can get, Zeph. I'm not askin' you to fight." Alfyn chuckled. "I'm not even sure if I'll be fightin' myself. But people like you and me and Ophilia and Lianna and Ogen and Vanessa..."

For a moment, it seemed like Alfyn was going to continue to list of names of people Zeph had never met for hours. With that many people other than himself already gathered to heal, did they really need him too?

"Well, people like us are there to act as support to the others." Alfyn winked at him. "And you can never have too much support!"

"Alf, I…" Zeph sighed. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested, that he didn't want to come and support them however he could, but he couldn't leave Nina. He couldn't leave the village now, not when the threat of danger was so high. But if he went with them, he could help stop the problem at the source. If he stayed… He sighed again. "Can we leave the day after tomorrow, to give me time to pack and find someone to take care of Nina while I'm gone?"

Alfyn beamed at him. "So you're comin'?!"

"Of course." Zeph playfully punched his shoulder. "Someone's got to worry for you, after all."

"Yes!" Wrapping his arm around Zeph's shoulders, he gave his dear friend a sideways hug. "With you there, Galdera doesn't stand a chance!"

"I don't know about that, Alf..." Zeph laughed as they watched the ripples in the river once more, a silent promise to protect this village from harm taking root in his heart once more. "But I'm not going to let you get yourself killed, you can count on that."


	94. War Cleric

_When Ophilia asks Olberic to teach her some self-defence techniques, he finds out quite quickly she'd far more capable than she appears._

* * *

War Cleric

The skies above them were clear, not a single fluffy cloud in sight, and the air was fresh, crisp even as the gentle winds blew over the Riverland plains. The continent itself seemed almost silent, as though all the beasts and monsters that had walked the world were now hibernating, fast asleep and unwilling to disturb the cleric and knight setting up for a training session.

Olberic had offered to join Ophilia on her Kindling quite readily, knowing it would take her to all corners of the world and hoping he might hear tale of Erhardt's location in at least one cathedral they passed through. Ophilia had happily accepted his help, knowing very well that her journey might be fraught with peril and that the aid of a seasoned, impressively imposing knight would serve her well. They both knew their place in their partnered travels, Ophilia was there to heal, to guide; Olberic was there to fight, to protect.

However, the pair had been travelling together long enough now that Ophilia was starting to get curious about the ways of the warrior. With Olberic by her side, it was most certainly true that she didn't need to know how to fight, how to defend herself, but after this journey was over, once they went their separate ways, who was to say what would happen then? Ophilia wanted to be prepared, to be able to handle herself.

So that morning she'd asked Olberic to teach her the basics, some simple self defence techniques that would work both against monsters and men should it ever come to such a battle.

Looking upon the weapons gathered on the blanket on the river bank that morning, Ophilia wasn't entirely certain what she'd signed herself up for… Surely Olberic didn't expect her to be able to wield a two handed broadsword as he did, did he?

"Are you ready?" Olberic asked, rolling up his sleeves in anticipation, inadvertently showing Ophilia the many, many scars that criss-crossed up and down his arms.

Ophilia nodded, balling her hands into eager fists. "Where should we start?"

"Hand-to-hand combat." Olberic raised his own fists and spread his feet wide, a comfortable fighting stance. "We cannot guarantee that you will have a weapon, as such, learning to fight with your fists is the first port of call when it comes to defending yourself. We'll start with simple stances."

For far longer than an hour, Ophilia found herself mimicking Olberic's powerful, wide-set stances in her cleric garb, mentally making notes of alternations she should to her skirt to make such stances easier. With discussions of how to make oneself as safe as possible in dangerous situations being the order of the hour, Ophilia found herself learning a lot and yet not once punching her fist nor kicking her feet. She couldn't exactly hide her disappointment, she was hardly a violent person, but surely there was only so much one could learn through stances alone?

Finally, while squatting in a rather uncomfortable position, Ophilia asked, "Olberic, how would one attack in this stance?"

Already in a matching stance of his own, Olberic quickly thrust his fist out in front of him in an impossibly fast punch that, were there an assailant in front of them, would have hit rather square in the groin.

Ophilia gasped, raising to her full height as her hand flew to her mouth, recognising how painful such a punch would be. "Surely it's not proper to attack such a place!"

"Ophilia," Olberic also rose from his squat, "If one finds oneself in a position where they are back into a corner with no chance of escape, one must attack at the weakest point by any means necessary. Even if that means attacking a supposedly indecent, 'off-limits' area."

"I… I suppose you are correct." Ophilia shook her head, rubbing her sore thighs as she chuckled. "I guess I always thought self-defence was all about hitting people in the face."

"Punch me in the face."

"What?!" Ophilia gasped in surprise, watching as Olberic employed his preferred attacking stance once more. "Olberic, I cannnot-"

"Come at me, Ophilia," he grinned, beckoning her close with his fingers. "Show me what you have learnt!"

"O-Okay." Ophilia adopted the attacking position that felt most comfortable to her – not that she'd been taught how to punch in such a stance – and came at Olberic with her fists raised.

She managed to take one swing at Olberic's face before he grabbed her arm, spun her so her back was to him and pinned her attacking arm behind him, her other against her stomach as he held her close and immobilised.

"Can you attack me now?" Olberic teased as she struggled.

However, there was one area of self-defence that Olberic had neglected to teach her, techniques that he had not taught because he had never had the ability to use them himself. And he _had_ said that one should be prepared to use any means to escape from a dangerous situation…

With her wrist held tight behind her, Ophilia created a ball of pure light magic within her fist and launched it behind her, hitting Olberic rather squarely in a delicate area. Immediately doubling over and wincing, Olberic's grip loosened on both her wrists enough that she could wriggle them free, turn around and kick out towards his stomach, knocking him back before she launched her fist finally into his face as she'd hoped to learn from this training. Watching as he fell into a curled fetal position on the floor, Ophilia let out a little yelp of celebration.

That was before she realised that she'd just terribly hurt her friend and travelling companion.

"Oh by the Flame!" Ophilia swore as she realised, rushing to Olberic's side as he groaned with her hand raised, this time with healing magic glowing within. "Olberic, I am so sorry! Where does it hurt?!"

"Everywhere." He groaned, his arms tightly wrapped around his stomach. "Particularly the groin."

"Right!" Ophilia wove an intricate healing web to cover his whole body, focusing particularly around his low abdomen. "I'm so sorry!"

A few moments later, Olberic was able to straighten out and breath in regular, non-groans once again. Lying on his back, he looked up at Ophilia in clear confusion. "Where in Orsterra did you learn such techniques?"

"I-I didn't." Ophilia stammered, shaking her head as she released the last of her healing magic and came to sit besides him. "I just, from what you taught me, I just… Instinct took over and I just fought back."

"So you did." Olberic chuckled, clicking his jaw as he rubbed the tender spot that Ophilia had punched. "And here you were thinking I needed to teach you!"

"You, you don't?"

"Nay," Olberic shook his head as he sat up, groaning slightly. "Fight like that and I dare say you have nothing you need to worry about."

Ophilia breathed and audible sigh of relief before chuckling. "I suppose there's a reason I always thought attacking such areas was off-limits."

"Indeed." Olberic winced once again. "Please do not do so to me again."

"Oh, of course not, Olberic! I have no reason to attack you!"

"Good." Olberic shook his head. "It has been many years since I last came across such a capable war cleric."

"War cleric?" Ophilia shook her head. "Olberic, in exchange for me never attacking you again, I ask that you never call me such a thing again. I am merely a cleric."

"One who is rather more than capable at defending herself at that." Olberic ruffled her hair familiarly. "The faithful have nothing to fear with one as capable as you carrying out the Kindling."

While most of the Riverlands were still silent, save only the rushing of water and the occasional chirping of snoring Froggens, a knight and cleric were chuckling quietly together as they shared stories, and vowed never to get on one another's bad side.


	95. Venomous Sting

_The venom of a poisonous beast's claw or the venom of her new mentor's words, Tressa didn't particularly want to know which would hurt her worse._

* * *

Venomous Sting

Something was very, very wrong in this cavern.

Ever since Tressa had stepped foot inside, she'd felt it: that constant, unwavering gaze that followed her every step yet seemed to have no origin. With her bow held low and lance ready to be pulled free of its sheath, Tressa had cautiously made her way through the narrow cavern paths, twisting and turning as she made her way ever closer to the sound of the sea, the gentle glow of sunlight. Yet not once had she been attacked.

It wasn't as if there were no monsters, in fact there were monsters everywhere, but it seemed as though they were all too busy to pay a young adventurer any attention. The skeletons sharpened their weapons, the elementals simply flitted this way and that in an almost anxious fashion and the bats and snakes seemed to be sleeping, though they were poised and ready. It was as though all the monsters were waiting for a call, the shout of their alpha, before they turned on the girl.

Tressa could only assume that alpha was the monster watching her every step, waiting for her to falter, waiting to pounce.

Still, she carried on, map in hand. She'd promised herself she'd find Mr Leon's friend's last treasure and she was going to find it, whatever it took. She'd fought pirates and mercenaries, a lower IQ monster was no match for her.

Finally, she happened upon the clearing, a half-buried treasure chest glowing beneath the sun in the centre. Her travels had made her cautious, of course, she knew such a clearing was the prime spot for the alpha to attack, so she searched the area once again, her bow low and arrow ready as she entered.

Still she saw nothing, no monster hiding on the cliffs as far as her eye could see. But she could feel it, the monster's gaze. She could smell it, the scent of wet dog mixed with… well, the only smell it reminded her of was addlewort, the poisonous herb. And beneath that smell was the monster, watching her, waiting, waiting to pounce.

Still she couldn't see it, so she cautiously continued to the chest.

Even stood next to it, nothing attacked her, the gaze made no move to waver nor pounce, only the air stilled. The atmosphere was tense, waiting for a pin to drop, waiting, waiting for Tressa to let her guard down even a fraction so that the beast might attack.

Then she knelt next to the chest and pulled out her trowel.

Then the monster let out a mighty roar and launched itself into the clearing, its talons sharp and dripping with a clearly poisonous substance.

Tressa had barely a second to turn, to raise her bow, before it would be upon her. Terrified, instead of turning, instead of trying to protect herself, Tressa found herself rooted to the spot, paralysed by the roar. She couldn't raise her weapon, she couldn't protect herself, she couldn't do anything but watch as the tiger bore down on her with its talons.

All of a sudden, a shadow flew into her view, placing itself squarely between her and the beast as it levelled its lance and pierced the tiger's chest.

The beast let out a shallower roar, one that gurgled into silence as blood and venom rose in the tiger's throat. The shadow before Tressa swung its lance in one fell swoop and twisted the beast onto its side, crashing it into the solid sand of the clearing with an almighty thud. The beast twitched once, spat blood and poison and finally fell still. Even dead, the beast's eyes were still open, still staring deep into Tressa's very soul as she at last managed to move from her cowering position to take a good look at the shadow that had saved her.

"Mr… Leon." She breathed, watching as the merchant pulled his lance free of the tiger's chest in disgust. "You-"

"What were you thinkin', Lass?!" Leon shouted at her, wiping the tip of his lance on the tiger's fur.

"I!" Tressa stood, her bow and arrow dropped into the sand behind her as she clenched her fists and willed herself not to cry. "I wanted to find Baltasar's treasure-"

"And so you entered a dangerous cavern _alone_ to do so?" Sheathing his lance, Leon stood before her with his arms resolutely crossed over his chest.

"I thought- Mr Leon, let me-"

"Tressa," Leon shook his head as his voice lowered to its normal volume yet lost none of its disappointed tone. "What you did here today was not only reckless but dangerous. Had I not followed you, I dread to think what might have occurred."

"Mr Leon, please." Tressa took a deep breath, her voice quivering as she shook. "I'm-I'm so sorry."

"As you should be!" Once again, Leon shook his head and looked back over his shoulder at the beast he'd killed. "Did you learn nothin' from my story, Lass? No treasure, no adventure is worth the price of your life."

With that, Leon left, leaving behind him the heavy air of disappointment. Tressa stood where she was, not watching as he walked away, as her eyes filled with tears.

Before her, the dead tiger still had its eyes open. Even clouded over with death, they still stared deep into her very being… As she stared back at it, Tressa couldn't help but wonder if its talon would have stung her worse than Leon's words...


	96. A Small Matter of the Truth

_It was April Fools this week, which means it's time for a new installment of Heels! Part four is also the final installment of Heels and, much as I had no idea how I was going to end it when I went into writing it, I really love how it turned out and closed off the Heels Saga._

 _Enjoy, stay safe, and know that Cyrus truly is a Small Boy._

* * *

 _Even if the truth of his height came out, could Cyrus ever go back to the way things were before he and Therion had begun their childish fight? (Heels 4) (Contains strong language)_

* * *

The Small Matter of the Truth

With the day of the Fool once again just around the corner, Cyrus couldn't help but wonder what prank the others would play on him this year.

That said, with everyone starting to bring their journeys to a close as they travelled around Orsterra once more on their way to Grandport and the fair, the atmosphere that followed the travellers was rather sombre. Who knew where they'd go after they brought their journeys to a close? Who knew when they'd see each other again, if their paths would ever once again cross? Who knew what was waiting for them once their journey was over, would their lives ever be the same?

However, who was to say that these questions and the sombre air wasn't just a cover, a carefully crafted facade to lower Cyrus' guard? Perhaps this was all part of the ploy, the Fool prank of the year where the others would at last reveal that they knew he was short.

Or perhaps he was simply exhausted of this last year and a half travelling with these people. And perhaps that exhaustion was making him more and more paranoid about something that really wasn't a big deal.

Because, truly, why was he still fighting this name calling? The fear of being called Small Boy… Was it really worth everything he'd done, was it really worth his sanity and his health? Was it really worth all this hassle?

"Hey, Small Boy!" Tressa called back to Therion who, due to their most recent lie, was walking hand in hand with the tired professor at the back of the group. Immediately, a smile came to Cyrus' face.

Yes. Yes all the energy he was putting into hiding his height really was worth it.

"Go fuck yourself." Therion mumbled under his breath as he saw Cyrus' smile out the corner of his eye, perking up slightly to listen to Tressa as she asked whether he thought they could make it to Grandport before the sunset or if they should stop here on the coast.

The fact that Therion was as exhausted by all this as Cyrus was was a small mercy, a delightful fact that still managed to bring a smile to his tired, lying face. That the pair hadn't yet killed each other was nothing short of a miracle in itself too. These past few months, the pair had kept up the illusion of being a couple through sheer pride and determination alone. Neither one would concede. Neither one would back down. Cyrus continued to deny his height, Therion continued to keep up the illusion of a frustrated lover.

And so they'd travelled together, anger for one another continuing to build beside their exhaustion as the others watched on, seemingly ignoring their childish fight now.

Still, forced to camp out under the stars on the Moon-Struck coast – which would really be rather a nice place to spend the night with some books and a bottle of wine, away from Therion's company – it seemed as though there was no avoiding the rest of the group for the couple tonight.

"Cy?" Therion called to him quietly as they started to build their shared tent. Of course, Cyrus telling Therion that he hated pet-names early into their 'relationship' had only encouraged him to find as many as he could. At least he didn't hate the shortening of his name as much as he hated being called foods. The next time the little thief called him 'muffin', Cyrus intended to shove his staff so far up-

"Yes?" He shook his head clear of such thoughts.

"Can we call a truce, just for tonight?"

"Admitting defeat, are we?" Cyrus raised an eyebrow, some light and joy returning to his voice for the first time in months.

"No, you just look so tired that I thought I'd take pity." Therion shook his head, pointing to the rather obvious bags under the scholar's eyes. "I won't try to make you small tonight."

"Very well." Cyrus nodded, hating the idea of agreeing to a truce that Therion could so easily break. "In exchange, I will not participate in any teasing tonight."

Therion made a dismissive noise. "You don't need to take pity on me."

"As you wish, Small Boy." Cyrus turned back to securing the tent.

"Wait." Therion let out a frustrated sigh before quietly mumbling, "Please take pity on me."

"Why, Therion dear!" Cyrus mock exclaimed, laughing slightly to himself, "I never thought I'd see the day!"

Therion turned back to securing his side of the tent as he grumbled.

"What's takin' you two so long, eh?" Alfyn called to them, appearing out of nowhere beside their tent – no mean feat considering there was nothing but bare sand and sea as far as the eye could see. Still he made the pair jump all the same. "Just hurry it up, will ya? We've got somethin' we want to talk to you 'bout."

"Oh, good." Therion's tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Can't _wait_."

"You'll like this, Therion," Alfyn dropped him an exaggerated wink as he left, headed in the direction of the gathered sticks they were waiting for Cyrus to light. "Trust me."

"Therion..." Cyrus practically growled his name as he looked over the tent at him. "Did you get me to agree to a truce that you're immediately about to break?"

"Oh come on, Cyrus, grow up." Therion shook his head as he growled back. "I have no idea what Alfyn's talking about."

"Oh no, _of course_ not." Cyrus' sarcastic tone was perhaps more hurtful than Therion's, if only because he didn't use it that often.

"Please. Don't you trust me?" Therion batted his eyelashes at him.

"Not one bit, Small Boy."

"Hey." Within almost a blink of the eye, Therion went from being on the other side of the tent to beside Cyrus with his dagger out. "Uncalled for. I don't know what this is about, promise."

"Well, that _is_ your honest tone of voice and dagger." Cyrus shook his head and grabbed a tome from his packs. "Fine, just. Put that away."

Therion sheathed his dagger as the pair made their way to the others, Cyrus lighting the bonfire with a single flap of his tome. Immediately, Linde bounded over from her frolicking in the sea to lie right beside the fire, soaking up its warmth.

"Ben careful, Linde." H'aanit warned as she warmed some of her sweet breads next to the fire for the group. "Lest thou catchen thyself aflame."

"You'd think you wouldn't have to warn her not to do that," Primrose smiled at the leopard as she lounged in the sand.

"Thou would thinken..." H'aanit shook her head, gently lifting Linde's tail away from the fire and wrapping it around her.

"Hmm." Primrose hummed in understanding, looking over at the small boys as they settled into the sand opposite. "And what took you two so long?"

"We wanted to make sure the tent was secure." Cyrus smiled at her, conscious that it was likely marred by exhaustion as Therion settled into a half-raised lying position next to him, his head resting comfortably on Cyrus' shoulder. Apparently relationship-Therion was all about contact. "We are right next to the sea, after all."

"Indeed." Primrose looked over at the others, waiting quietly as they all imperceptibly nodded their heads. With a sigh, she drew herself up slightly. "Gentlemen, we have something we need to tell you."

"In the spirit of the day of the Fool, we would like to come clean." Ophilia nodded slightly watching as the pair both turned to look at the group in clear confusion.

"We know you're short, Professor Albright." Tressa said the words that Cyrus had been dreading since they started travelling together. However, instead of feeling like a weight on his shoulders, driving him deep in the sand and ruining him in a way that he would never recover from, those simple words actually took a huge weight off his shoulders. It was as though he was finally free, free to sleep and end this charade with Therion.

"Finally!" Therion let out an explosive breath, turning to point his finger accusatorially in Cyrus' face. "I _told_ you they believed me."

"Shut up, Therion," Primrose shook her head. "You're not in on this."

"Oh, so you weren't lying earlier." Cyrus couldn't help but acknowledge in surprise.

"No. And it hurt that you thought I was."

"This," Olberic cleared his throat, gesturing between the pair and how close they were to each other still, "is why we wanted to come clean."

"What do you mean?" Therion asked in confusion, making no move to scoot away from Cyrus.

"When we realised you were short, Professor," Alfyn cleared his throat. "We wanted to see how far you and Therion would go to hide and prove the fact. We just… never expected you to go this far."

"And now, this childish fight over height is getting in the way of what could well be a good relationship, for both of you." Ophilia shook her head.

"What?" "Beg pardon?" Therion and Cyrus exclaimed at the same time.

"Effective immediately, I'm no longer calling anyone by height based names." Tressa banged two shells together as if imitating a judge's gavel. "You are no longer Giant, Olberic. H'aanit is no longer Tall Girl and Alfyn is no longer Tall Boy. And you, Therion, are no longer Small Boy."

"Yes!" He punched his fist in celebration before shaking his head. "However, back to what you said earlier. You know that Cyrus and I were only in a pretend relationship, right?"

"Aye." H'aanit nodded, carefully moving Linde's tail again. "Howeveren, I must aske thee, Cyrus, dost mine and Alfyn's bet still standen true?"

"...It does." Cyrus admitted, too caught up in trying to process everything to bother hiding anything any longer. What good had lies ever got him? A year and a half of pointless sleeplessness, that's what.

"Dammit, Cyrus!" Alfyn exclaimed, punching his fist uselessly into the sand. "Couldn't run back to the closet for your old pal Alfyn, huh?"

"I'd rather not lie anymore, Alfyn." Cyrus shook his head and stood. "I am far too tired. ...And my feet hurt."

"Yeah, you really shouldn't wear heels in the sand, Prof." Primrose waved her bare feet in the air as if to make a point.

"Noted." Cyrus nodded and turned back in the direction of his tent. "Excuse me a moment."

As he left, Cyrus cast a spell of ice over his shoulder, extinguishing the fire to show the others he was disappointed in them. And to stop Linde nearly putting her tail in the fire again.

"Oh no, Professor's sad!" Tressa said a little to loudly. "Therion, better go check on your man!"

"I think we should all leave the good Professor alone and turn in for the night, Tressa." Ophilia said quietly, reigning the young girl in.

"Aye." Olberic agreed, getting up from the sand with all the grace of a walrus. "Let us leave Cyrus be tonight, Therion."

"Therion?" Primrose called his name as they all realised he wasn't there in the clearing with them, having snuck off on silent – even in the sand – feet to meet Cyrus at the flap of their tent.

"Please move aside, Therion," Cyrus sighed, his head exhaustedly in his hand as he crouched to shuffle into their tent, watching as Therion shuffled in first.

"Wanna talk?"

"No." Cyrus shook his head, pulling his heels off at last and stretching his toes. "I think you and I have spoken enough to last us both a lifetime."

"Right." Therion shook his head, grabbing his roll of blankets and moving to sleep outside. "I'll leave you be."

"Therion." Cyrus called after him as he pulled out his own blankets, offering him a smile. "Please accept my heartfelt apologies for letting this go too far."

"Likewise." Therion offered him a smile too. "In a weird way, I'm going to miss our argument."

"Indeed." Cyrus chuckled, feeling better already. It wasn't often one saw Therion with a genuine smile on his face, after all. "In a weirder way, I think I might even miss our faked relationship."

"Heh." Therion let out a chuckle as he shook his head. "I just wish the others told us they knew sooner."

"Agreed." Cyrus suddenly grinned rather deviously.

"What? What's with that look?" Therion asked in surprise before a similar grin creased his own features. "Oh, you've thought of a plan to get them back, haven't you?"

"Remember what Alfyn told us about slumberthorn?"

"You genius!" Therion exclaimed, shuffling back into the tent to kneel opposite him. "He's still got some in his satchel. I could steal it and administer it easily when they're asleep."

"Fantastic!" Cyrus exclaimed, reaching out his hand to shake Therion's. "I knew I could count on you."

Therion shook his hand, still grinning, before he lent back. "I must say, this is a particularly out-of-character payback method for you, Cy."

"Perhaps your devious ways have rubbed off on me." Cyrus shook his head with a little laugh as he let his hair down.

"Hm." Therion looked away rather abruptly as he mumbled once again. "Perhaps there was more truth to Ophilia's advice than I thought..."

"Pardon?" Cyrus asked, having heard quite well what he'd muttered and simply hoping he might hear it louder.

"Nothing." He shook his head in embarrassment, hurrying back to the tent flap once again. "Sleep well, Cy. I'll sort the others."

"Therion." Cyrus called to him again as he left, watching as he poked his head back into the tent. "You needn't sleep outside tonight. I… have grown rather used to your company and..."

"Hmph." Therion shook his head as he closed the flap again, not quite quick enough to hide his soft smile. "Sleep well, Professor."

"And you, little thief."

The six awoke from their guilty nightmares rather too late in the next morning, their heads groggy and a desperate need to apologise to the scholar and thief burning within them all as they marched – as much as one can march in soft sand – to the pair's shared tent.

All accusations and apologies died on their lips when they saw the couple rather fast asleep in each others arms.

Despite her promise to never mention height again, Tressa did make a quiet, off-hand remark that she couldn't tell which of the pair was the little spoon.


	97. Aged Arrows

_As I mentioned before the last one of these 'collecting secondary characters for the Gate of Finis' stories, there's a reason why I've written roughly one a month - and had a lot of fun getting into the secondary character's heads while doing so. These stories are all leading up to a running collection coming next month: What Happened at The Gate of Finis?_

 _There'll be one story every week in May (as usual) all of which lead on from each other as the travelers and their friends take on the Gate and Lyblac._

 _I'm mentioning this now - with still two stories left before this month ends - because these five stories are going to mark the end of Travel On._

 _I have had an absolute blast writing Travel On and have no doubt that I'll come back to it if I ever get inspiration for another one off or, inevitably, when Octopath 2/Travelers of the Continent comes west. However, after nearly two years of writing pretty much exclusively Octopath fanfic thanks to my time to write being so limited (not so much at the moment thanks to these *momentous times* we're in at the moment - stay safe! - but it's harder to write at the moment for completely different reasons...) I've made the difficult decision that it's time I take a step back and work on some new projects - both fanfic and personal._

 _Anyway, there's still a good seven stories left after today's so this is still a little way off! I just figured I'd mention it today since this is the last of this type of story. If you want a complete list of all these, as I'm now calling them, 'Characters for the Gate' stories, I've put a list together at the bottom of the first chapter, beneath the spoilerless stories list._

 _Enjoy! And I promise, Travel On's going to go out on a high!_

* * *

 _Z'aanta had starred in enough stories to last him a lifetime, however he was rather looking forward to watching H'aanit start writing her own._

* * *

Aged Arrows

Over his many years, Z'aanta had been a part of many an adventure, many an outlandish story – that, yes, he would admit he embellished when he told them again. From meeting Suzanna to saving her from an assassin, from fighting the Clifflands dragon or any one of his missions with the Knights Ardante, every adventure came with a story to tell.

Yet not one of his stories had made him half as proud as the one he heard from H'aanit on their way back from Stonegard. That she'd managed to best a beast that had bested him was worthy enough of praise alone, yet the fact that she'd made friends while doing so, that she'd managed to help them beat their quarries and rise to their own adventures… It was enough to bring a proud tear to the old man's eye.

To think that his prentice had managed to surpass him, had managed to best a dragon at a much younger age than he… Perhaps he should have made some travelling companions to help him on his missions rather than tackling them alone with Hägen... But no, while that may have made him a better hunter, a better person, it might have undercut his adventurous stories just a little.

Not that he'd say such a thing to H'aanit.

Not that he had much of a chance to say such to H'aanit for, as soon as they arrived back in S'warkii, she begged his pardon and left with her travelling companions once again. Apparently there had been nine of them at one point of their journey. The ninth was a young man intent on finding his father and desperate to go his search alone, their paths crossing very infrequently as H'aanit and her companions provided him with information.

And now H'aanit and the others seemed to have gotten it in their heads that something bad had happened to the lad.

To be frank, following his petrification this last hunt, Z'aanta was rather content with resting in his quiet home, hunting only for the people of the village as a new hunter took over from him. He supposed, if he was being rather honest with himself, he was starting to feel he was a little too old to be running around the continent on the tail of another quarry. Though his arrows still flew straight and true, he'd be lying if he hadn't noticed that they were falling a little short of his target. His axe swipes too, he'd noticed that they no longer had the power they had had in his youth.

Z'aanta was by no means feeble nor was he ready to throw down his bow and retire, however the idea of going on hunting adventures as he had in his youth seemed rather far-fetched now.

Still, he certainly felt he had enough spirit in him left for one last adventure, one last grand story to cap off the tale of the great hunter Z'aanta and his partner Hägen. And he rather hoped to complete this adventure beside H'aanit, to see how much she'd grown, how much she'd embellished in her tale of hunting Red-eye.

It was as though the very fates themselves had listened to his request for one last adventure, for when H'aanit returned – alone and troubled – she had a singular proposition for him.

"Master," H'aanit had called to him immediately upon her return, her face tired and worried. Linde herself was coiled like a spring, feeding off of her mistress' emotions. "Mighten I aske thee a favour?"

"For thou, H'aanit? Anything!" Z'aanta smiled on her, he owed her his very life after all and it wasn't often that she asked for anything. He cleared his throat before adding, "Unlessen thy favour involves leaves."

"Nay, I need not leaves." H'aanit shook her head head before squinting at him. "Hast thou been to Victors Hollow since thine returne?"

"Why, H'aanit!" Z'aanta raised a hand to his chest in mock surprise at her insinuations. "Thou woundest me with thine accusations!"

"Hägen?" H'aanit turned to the wolf, listening closely as he snickered and told her not this time.

"That thou wouldst trusten Hägen's words beforen mine!"

"Hägen dost not feelen the need to lie as thou dost." H'aanit shook her head. "Howeveren, that ist not what I wished to ask thee."

"Nay?" Z'aanta tilted his head to the side in interest. Normally when H'aanit came to him with a concerned face as she had now it was to do with his spending or drinking habits. This certainly was a rare circumstance. "What mighten I do for thee, mine dear prentice?"

"Wouldst thou accompany mine companions and mineself to former Hornburg?" H'aanit took a deep breath, barely meeting his eye as she worked up the courage to explain why.

Before she could, Z'aanta let out a laugh. "H'aanit, ist that all thou wishest to ask? Of coursen I will accompany thee and thine friends."

"Thou dost not even knowe why..." H'aanit looked up at him with strangely soft expression. It wasn't often that he saw such an expressive H'aanit – unless she was angry at him, that was. "And thou wouldst come anyway?"

"For thou, H'aanit, I wouldst walken throughe Hell itself to helpen thee."

"Humorous that thou mentione Hell..." H'aanit shook her head and offered him a beaming smile. "No matter, thou wilt come?"

"Aye." He ruffled her hair, treasuring the pouty expression he received in return. He hadn't seen H'aanit this troubled since she'd been a child, whatever she was asking him to do was clearly important and challenging. But he could hear about it on the way to Hornburg. His gut told him this was going to be an adventure that put all his others to shame, a story that historians themselves would tell until all parchment and ink in Orsterra had been used up. "The great Z'aanta hast yet to turnen down a mission! Or a request frome his dear prentice."

"Whaten aboute the time I askened for leaves for new arrows?"

Z'aanta cleared his throat as he and Hägen followed H'aanit and Linde out of S'warkii and back on the road. "I believen I taught thee the importance of makening thine own arrows from that request."

"Hmm." H'aanit hummed, returning to her general disappointment of her master, though her smile and gratitude was still plain to see. Whatever story Z'aanta had just gotten himself into was clearly one for H'aanit to star centre stage in, one for her to tell. And he couldn't have been more excited to see her in action.


	98. A Stranger's Guidance

_This week's and next week's stories were swapped around, so rather than the 'not tragedy' coming at the end of the month, it's today instead. Next week's is going to be a fun one though!_

* * *

 _As enticing as the bottom of the cliffs seemed to Olberic after Hornburg fell, there was simply no way he could have refused the call of a witch… (Suicide mention)_

* * *

A Stranger's Guidance

There was only one question on Olberic's lips as he slowly turned himself over to face the sky, his entire body one huge bruise that seemed to penetrate to his very bones and organs: Why?

Why had Erhardt started the coup? Why had he killed the King? Why had he been so bent on revenge?

Why had he not finished the job?

True, Olberic was bruised and battered within an inch of his life, even the simple act of rolling over onto his back was enough to make him groan and break into a sweat. However, bruises and shallow cuts alone would not kill a man, Erhardt knew that as well as Olberic did. So why hadn't he stuck around to finish the job? A clean cut to the throat or chest was all he needed – although he could have always stabbed him in the gut if that's what he wanted to see him suffer, to struggle as he bled slowly out onto the ground below, his blood mingling with those of his comrades, his fellow men-at-arms.

Perhaps that had been what stilled his blade. Perhaps Erhardt simply couldn't kill his former partner, perhaps their camaraderie had been more than a ploy to him, more than a means to an end as he wormed his way into the King's inner circle.

Or perhaps he'd simply left him there for his fellow traitors or the scavengers above to finish off, a final morale boast as they moved on to whatever was next for men like them.

Or perhaps Erhardt had known. Maybe, just maybe, Erhardt had known that Olberic wouldn't stand again after a beating like this. Maybe he knew that, without a banner to fight under, without someone to carry his sword for, Olberic would have no reason to carry on, no reason to stand from where he lay in the mud.

Perhaps Erhardt had thought it would be all the more tragic to watch from a distance as Olberic took matters into his own hand.

Of course, as the rational parts of his brain screamed at him, fighting back against the darkness, there was always the possibility that Erhardt hadn't killed him because he wanted him to save him from himself, he still longed to have a partner by his side as he fought. Who was to say that Erhardt hadn't spared him simply out of kindness, a hope that Olberic would use this as an opportunity to start a new life somewhere else, to forget all about Hornburg and it's politics?

However, as a knight of Hornburg, as a man who had sworn an oath to the late king that he would always serve and protect this great – now fallen – nation, Olberic could not forget Hornburg. He could not move on until it had been avenged.

Yet he was one man, revenge for one man against an army was a foolhardy idea at best, an impossibility at worst. Olberic knew this, he knew there was no way that he alone could avenge an entire Kingdom. He knew he was not worthy of continuing to walk the path of a knight, a warrior, now that he'd allowed such an atrocity to happen, by his partner no less.

He knew the only way out of Hornburg for him was down the cliff.

Having lived in these mountains his whole life, he knew how quickly those rocks would break his body. He knew how the next landslide would bury him so deep that all but the most persistent archaeologist would miss his body, his broken bones.

He knew it was the easy way out of this, the coward's escape.

However, what was he if not a coward? What other option did a man who had lost everything have?

"Will you not stand, Sir Knight?"

Such power was hidden deep beneath that sultry voice that Olberic could do nothing but obey. In fact, he got so hastily to his feet that his head pounded and his vision misted as his head throbbed, the woman stood before him coming into such hazy focus that – at first – all he could make out were wavy purples and black tones.

"Much better." She nodded to herself as Olberic's vision finally focused on the black clad woman before him. A woman who exuded power as though it was her very aura. The smile he gave him chilled his bones far more than the cold mud had. "A man of your stature and presence should not spend his days wallowing in self pity and mud, do not you agree?"

Olberic could do nothing but nod, his words caught in his throat as the woman looked him up and down, staring – it felt – into his very soul.

Finally, she sighed and looked away from him and towards the bodies. "Alas, you are not the one I am searching for. A shame, how easy it would be to take advantage of these circumstances…"

"My Lady," Olberic cleared his throat, finally finding his words now that her gaze was directed elsewhere. "You should leave these mountains, lest the villains who brought this Kingdom to its ruin return."

"Do you not think I can handle myself, Sir Knight?" The woman turned back, her head tilted haughtily as she let out a little laugh. If he lived after this day, Olberic wished to never hear such a laugh again. "Tell me, when did Hornburg fall?"

"Today."

"About time." She sighed, looking away again as she muttered something Olberic could not hear under her breath. Did this woman, this beauty of pure power, want Hornburg to fall?

"My Lady, permit me to ask-"

"What will you do now, Sir Knight?" The lady interrupted him, staring straight into him again as her question awaited his answer.

"I..." Olberic's gaze shifted slightly to the cliff once again. "I do not know."

"Is that so?" The woman looked over at the cliff too, having seen his slight gaze. It seemed as though there was very little that lady did not see. "I did not think you a coward, Knight. Is not the Unbending Blade of Hornburg better than this? Does he not want revenge, to understand why his friend would commit such an atrocity? Does he not want to keep living so that he might, one day, retake his rightful place to the right of the throne when Hornburg is rebuilt?"

"Who are you, my lady?" Olberic asked in return to her questions. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that she recognised him – he was dressed in blue and carrying his blade after all - yet the words she'd said to him… What stake did she have in him carrying on?

Why was it that he now held a deep desire to move forward, to find Erhardt and the truth even if it took him the rest of his life?

"Do whatever you wish with your life, Sir Olberic," she tossed her curls over her shoulder as she continued deeper into Hornburg, apparently done with her conversation. "Know only that Galdera's Daughter is watching. And she rather expects to see you again one day, on a dark stage not too far from here..."


	99. Never Will I Forget Our Adventures

_Since next month is both the final month of Travel On and a running collection of stories, today's is the last random one-shot and I wanted to take it right back to the story that inspired this all: Never Have I... This story is probably one of my favourites to have written for a long time, so I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

 _In yet another darkened corner of tavern in a forgetful village near the Clifflands, the travelers engage in one final game before they each return home._

* * *

Never Will I… Forget Our Adventures

"One game."

"No, Therion." Primrose sighed as he shook his dice again, ever eager to show just how well he could cheat with those things. "For the last time, we're not playing dice with you."

Once again, the travellers had found themselves in a darkened corner of yet another tavern, a round of drinks spread evenly between them as they pondered what game they should play to pass the next few hours. Today, however, the air was a little sombre. Their journeys had recently come to an end, their paths were soon to splinter apart and who was to say when they'd see each other again? So when Ophilia had suggested that the eight of them take a final stop off at an unnamed village's tavern, they were all rather keen. Not that they had any idea what they were going to do to pass the time now that they were settled into their seats.

"Considering how terrible the young thief is a poker, I rather doubt his skills at dice myself." Cyrus goaded him, shuffling that tattered old deck of his again. They'd played so many games with that deck now that they all knew the face of each card from their scratched and torn backs.

"No cards tonight, Cyrus." Olberic shook his head. "I do not want to take any more of your leaves."

"Well, what shall we play then?" Alfyn asked, already a tankard deep as he lounged back in his chair.

"What about Therion's game?" Tressa asked, watching as Therion perked up and rattled his dice again.

"No dice." Primrose stared him down, wishing to take those rattling dice and throw them in a nearby lake.

"No, not dice." Tressa shook her head, beaming, "That drinking game! You know, the one where we have to say things we haven't done-"

"Ah," H'aanit nodded as she interrupted, cradling a balled up Linde in her lap. "Thy blackmailen game."

"It's not blackmail-"

"That's not a bad idea, Tressa." Ophilia nodded in agreement, interrupting Therion's protests. "After all, the last time we played together we didn't know each other all that well."

"True." Primrose nodded, running a finger around the top of her tankard as she watched Ophilia. "Perhaps this time we can even make you drink, Sister."

Ophilia let out an innocent little chuckle in response as Cyrus ordered a pitcher of beer and water for the table. "Pick your poison."

All but Tressa and Ophilia shared the pitcher of beer between themselves, leaving the two girls to watch in amusement as they all started to prepare 'never have I's' in their head.

"Therion, this is your game." Olberic said simply as they all clinked tankards, toasting to a good natured, friendly game. "Will you start it off for us?"

"Fine." Sitting up slightly and clearing his throat, Therion began the games with a rather unbelievable statement. "Never have I… Committed arson."

It was both an unbelievable in that Therion hadn't, and that the two youngest girls – and Cyrus – drank.

"No!" Alfyn exclaimed in surprise as Tressa and Ophilia chuckled at each other, leaving the others slack-jawed in awe. "When was this?!"

"Do you remember that little village we were run out of?" Tressa asked as Ophilia cleared her throat.

"Yes, the one with the – ahem – stable fire?"

"That was you?!" Primrose couldn't stop the exclamation from tumbling from her lips as Olberic and H'aanit laughed.

"My, my." Olberic managed to mumble between chuckles. "We are off to a most entertaining start."

"Indeed." H'aanit managed to compose herself, lifting her tankard as she started her turn. "Neveren have I-"

"Wait," Cyrus interrupted. "Don't you want to hear my story?"

"You fell asleep durin' a session at the library, accidentally muttered the incantation for your fire spell in your sleep and nearly died in a library fire?" Alfyn guessed.

Looking away as he sipped his tankard, Cyrus mumbled, "Carry on."

Once again chuckling as she scratched Linde's sleepy ears, H'aanit carried on her turn. "Neveren have I… Attackened someone in the delicates."

Primrose, Olberic, Therion and – most surprisingly – Ophilia drank.

"Ophilia!" Cyrus exclaimed in surprise.

"Dish, Sis!" Tressa turned to her, eager to hear this story yet missing the subtle glance between her and Olberic that sent them both into gales of giggles.

"Olberic was teaching me self-defence." Ophilia confessed.

"Might I make the suggestion to not cross our dear cleric here?" Olberic winced slightly at the memory. "She's rather built for war."

"Okay," Tressa chuckled slightly to herself, looking at the other three who'd drank. "I guess the three of you did it during your line of work?"

"That's about the sum of it." Primrose nodded with the two men, sipping her beer as she looked the young girl in the eye. "Don't give in to the lure of the stage, dear."

"That moves rather nicely onto something I haven't done." Cyrus took up his turn. "Never have I… Ruined a stage performance."

As Olberic and Therion drank, Primrose stared him down. "Might I make the request to not say things we know for certain that the others have done?"

"Agreed." H'aanit nodded, remembering that performance the three had ruined on their way out of Everhold. "Elsen thou mighten finde thyself drunk beforen thy time."

"Very well," Cyrus agreed to the rule as Primrose took her drink. "In that case, never have I-"

"Oh no, Professor, you've taken your turn." Primrose pushed him back slightly with her hand. "It's mine now. Never have I… Gone to great pains to make myself look taller than I am."

"What was your rule just now?" Cyrus gave her the evil eye, missing seeing H'aanit and Alfyn drink for the first time this game as Therion lost himself to gales of laughter.

"Oops." Primrose smiled sweetly at him as he drank.

"When did you two make yourself look taller?" Ophilia asked the hunter and apothecary.

"Many moons ago." H'aanit shook her head, looking a little bitter about the matter. "I thoughten it woulde stop Master pickening me upen."

"Did it work?" Tressa asked in curiosity.

"Nay." H'aanit's gaze could only be described as a thousand yard glare. "He still doesen it toe this day..."

"And you, Alfyn?" Olberic asked, ignoring Therion's now choking laughter.

"Similar reason to H'aanit." Alfyn admitted. "I was a bit of a late bloomer, Zeph used to make fun of me. One day I tried gettin' back at him only to fall off my stilts."

"I'd forgotten how much fun this game was." Primrose commented as Therion finally stopped coughing. "Are you ready for us to continue, Small Boy?"

"Olberic's turn." He rasped, taking a gulp of water from a new tankard.

"Never have I..." Olberic started before tailing off into a pause. Whether it was for dramatic effect or simply because he hadn't yet thought of an idea, the others couldn't know. "Mistaken something for gold."

H'aanit, Cyrus, Alfyn and, rather surprisingly as Tressa stared him down, Therion drank.

"Okay, let me guess." Ophilia chuckled before delicately pointing to each of the players who had in turn. "Z'aanta gave you fake gold to fool you into thinking he hadn't gambled; you were too tried from study to realise you were getting swindled in a sale; Alfyn, you hadn't seen enough pure gold to know what you were given was a fake. Right?"

"Aye." "Shockingly accurate." "Tressa scowled me..." They all agreed with her guesses with rather impressed looks on their faces.

"We might have been travelling together too long..." Primrose said quietly, as surprised as the rest of them that Ophilia had guessed the stories so easily. "What about you, Therion?"

"Our merchant is a crafty girl with a warped sense of humour." Was all he said in response, watching closely as she held back her giggles.

"Care to explain, Tressa?" Olberic asked, somewhat unsurprised when she shook her head.

"Nope!" She gave Therion one last smile before she raised her tankard. "My turn! Never have I… Gotten so drunk I needed someone to carry me to bed!"

Therion, Alfyn and Olberic drank; Cyrus watched with a rather smug look on his face.

"Okay, there's clearly a joint story here." Primrose smiled. "Spill it."

"Remember that night in Orewell when we gentlemen headed off to the tavern to see who would fall beneath the table first?" Cyrus asked, smiling as he remembered his win. "Olberic and I had to carry Alfyn and Therion back to the inn when they fell asleep at the table. Ogen was most concerned for their health."

"Waiten," H'aanit interrupted their grumbles and the ladies giggles. "When did this happenen toe thou, Olberic?"

"Many years ago, back in Hornburg." Olberic cleared his throat. "Remember the old story I told you about Erhardt and I getting drunk and nude in the King's chambers?"

"I remember you not telling me what he looked like..." Tressa mumbled sullenly.

"Again," Ophilia gave her a confused look. "Why do you want to know?"

"Well, shortly after I licked the crown, I rather ungracefully passed out. Erhardt carried me back to my bunk."

"That was nice of him." Alfyn noted.

"Nay." Olberic shook his head, glaring into space. "Erhardt got dressed before he went into the bunks but failed to dress me. He told our fellow warriors what I had done yet failed to mention his involvement in the games. 'Twas a long time before I earned their trust back."

"Oh dear." Ophilia muttered to hide her small chuckle at the image. "Oh, is it my turn? Um, never have I… Ever had a group of friends I could speak so honestly to."

No one drank and the sombre atmosphere once again fell upon their table. Who was to say when they'd next all be in a tavern, playing games like this? Who was to say when they'd have the time, the chance to do this again?

Clearing his throat, Therion stood. "Might I make a request?" He asked the group, something none of them had seen him do before.

"Go ahead." Primrose gestured in front of her as they all listened attentively to his slightly tipsy request.

"Every other month, we agree to meet back here, in this tavern, on the full moon. We can catch up, play games… Just, um." He cleared his throat, going almost red in the face as he realised what an emotional request he was making. "Just keep in touch."

A pregnant pause hung in the air, waiting for someone to agree to Therion's request as he stood with his tankard high in the air. Finally, the scrapping of Olberic's chair on the tiles broke the silence as he stood, tankard raised. "A fine idea."

Following suit, the others also stood, their tankards raised high as they each tapped them to each other, swearing in a promise to see each other again. And again and again. To relive their stories, to remind each other of their embarrassments, to simply be with each other once again – likely with Therion's cheating dice and Cyrus' tatty cards. They would meet again, they would always meet again.

"Oh, it's my turn!" Alfyn exclaimed as they all settled back into their seats, the air once again happy and full of anticipation of something that Alfyn hadn't done. "Never have I… Given an emotional speech in the middle of a drinking game."

As the others fell into fits of laughter, Therion stood to storm out of the tavern, held back by Alfyn and H'aanit both tugging at his sleeves. A recently awakened Linde let out a gentle growl, a warning that if he left she would be most displeased with him. Settling back into his chair as he drank, Linde jumped onto his lap and settled down into a rather large leopard loaf as he raised his tankard and took his turn.

So the games continued, occasionally falling into laughing fits as they remembered the adventures they'd shared, the stories they'd kept rather carefully hidden from the others. As the moon rose high into the sky and many turned to their beds, still the travellers played. After all, what did tomorrow matter when memories were being made tonight?


	100. To the Edge of the World

_As I've mentioned, these next five stories all take place during the post-game story and will all run on from each other. They will also bring Travel On to a close, I hope you enjoy them!_

* * *

 _What Happened at the Gate of Finis? Pt. 1_

* * *

To the Edge of the World

"I'm begging you, shut up." Vanessa snapped at Ali once again as she riffled through her satchel. "Keep it up, and I've got something in here that will make sure you never speak again."

"Vanessa, no." Alfyn shouted back at the woman as she started to pull a small vial from her satchel, absolutely exhausted and wondering why he'd insisted on giving her a second chance.

"No no, apothecary man," Ali shouted back, eyeing up Vanessa's vial with curiosity. "It's a merchant's duty to test his products before they go to market."

"Ali, no." Tressa called back to him next, her head in her hand even as they travelled through the Highland pass, lead towards Hornburg by Erhardt and Olberic. "You don't want to be selling what she's offering, I promise."

"So, about this alter Mattias placed you on, Sister..." Odette hadn't left Lianna's side since they'd started travelling, incessantly badgering her for information that she didn't want to share, leaving Ophilia and Cyrus to constantly have to but in and draw them away.

"Odette, please." Cyrus once again drew his friend away, as tired of her shenanigans as the rest of them were. It was safe to say introducing their friends to each other hadn't gone quite as well as one would have hoped. "We can speak more about this some other time."

"Yes, I am afraid I must insist that you leave Lianna alone." Ophilia once more came protectively to her sister's rescue, her face set in anger as she eyed up Odette once more.

"Alright, fine." Odette shrugged dismissively before shouting over at Z'aanta, breaking up his pleasant reminiscings and story sharing with Leon. "What about you, old boy?"

"I beg thine pardone, m'lady," Z'aanta called back, shaking his head a little in frustration. It was clear he hadn't expected everyone to be so lively, especially since they were headed towards an almost certain death. "Don not interrupt mine story. Thou may listene too, if thou must."

Muttering something under her breath, Odette made her way up their cluster to walk with Leon and Z'aanta, listening as he told the story of how he bested the dragon once again.

H'aanit's attention was anywhere but on her master as they continued to travel, she knew he could handle himself. Alaic, however…

"All I'm saying is I recognise your face." Eliza once more nodded to herself in certainty. "Are you certain you've never been on the Knight's watch list?"

"Quite certain." Alaic lied through his teeth, his eyes staring straight ahead as they passed by the Obsidian's former roost of Everhold once again. Primrose, seeing his tension and knowing his story, swooped in rather gracefully.

"Perhaps you should focus more on what's ahead of us than what's in the past, Eliza." Primrose offered her a smile. "After all, if we can pardon Vanessa, I'm sure we can forgive whatever made up crimes you have on Alaic."

"Very well." Eliza agreed, missing Alaic's grateful smile to Primrose as she looked back at Vanessa, now arguing with Zeph.

"Never wanted to get rich from your trade, huh?" Vanessa asked, drawing an exasperated Alfyn back to her once more. Before he could get there, Therion swooped in.

"Like a pretty boy like him would want that," Therion offered her his most devious smile. "Me, on the other hand… What can you tell me about these vials of yours?"

"Therion, no!" Alfyn shouted at him as he gently pushed Zeph up the cluster towards Ogen before heading back to put a stop to whatever plan Therion was hatching.

"Alfyn's friend, huh?" Ogen acknowledged briefly as Zeph nodded at him, clearly out of his depth as he clutched at his satchel strap. Instead of trying to hold a conversation, Ogen simply hmphed and went back to his silence.

"Hey, why don't you join us?" Cecily called to Zeph from her place near the front of the cluster, her and Ned the only two who hadn't been bickering with the others, most likely because they'd been bickering between themselves. "We're playing a game!"

"What kind of game?" Zeph asked in curiosity as he made his way to join them, leaving behind the bickering of the others and the desperate efforts to maintain peace by the travelling eight.

"We're guessing who'd have a hidden tattoo out of all of us." Cecily said with such excitement before she offered a devious look. "Want to bet against me that Ogen has one? I'll give you good odds..."

"I don't." Ogen called up to them, hearing their competition even through Z'aanta's loud explanation of how he fought the dragon, an explanation that had drawn in even Ali and Lianna now. "Alaic on the other hand…."

"Really?" Cecily gave Ned a rather insinuating look before he sighed and handed her a small handful of leaves.

"What happened to patient-apothecary confidentiality, Ogen?" Alaic shouted at him, his hand going to his dagger as the man hid a grin.

"I promised nothing."

"Okay, that's-" Ophilia shouted, finally snapping after the near week of listening to these people constantly bickering. She and her fellow travellers, they'd expected a few fights, a few feathers to be ruffled by conflicting personalities. They hadn't expected that they'd have bickered and argued and heard Z'aanta's story every Gods forsaken step of their journey. They were exhausted when they should have been conserving their energy, they were ready to fight each other rather than a common enemy.

They were in no shape to fight a God, recently awakened or not.

"We're here." Olberic shouted back, Erhardt beside him observably tensing as he returned to the Kingdom he'd ruined. Everyone else fell silent as the atmosphere shifted.

It wasn't just that it was cold and barren here in former Hornburg, it wasn't just that the tattered flags and rusted shields brought up images they'd rather not imagine… There was something more in the air here, something that demanded their silence and reverence as they followed Olberic and Erhardt deep into the former Kingdom. Following them to the broken wall deep within they were sure had hidden the Gate of Finis.

It was in that silence that the travellers realised why everyone had been bickering and chattering, why they'd been looking for little conflicts that might lead to Ophilia losing her temper and throwing them out of the mission. They were all terrified, some quite literally shaking in their boots as the enormity of what they were about to do came crashing down on their shoulders.

Ophilia and the other seven, they'd faced off against demons and monsters aplenty during their journey. While they knew what they were about to face was in a league of its own, a beast that would challenge them as they had never been challenged before, they also knew how to mitigate their nerves. They knew how to look past the enormous stupidity of what they were about to undertake and into what would come after. All they needed to do was save Kit from a witch, that was all. Whatever came between them and that goal was but a simple obstacle to over come.

While the friends they'd gathered had seen tragedies, horrors and plenty of battles of their own, they had never been involved in something so foolhardy. They had never gone into a battle with the same blinding – some would argue foolish, even stupid – belief that they could win. They knew just what they were coming up against and they were terrified, not only for their lives but the lives of those around them, the lives of the ones they loved out in Orsterra unaware of where they'd gone, the stupidity they were about to undertake.

Fear, however, was the one drug apothecaries couldn't distil and put under a magnifying glass to explain. Instead it was simply an emotion, a rational one that told them at once to run as fast down these mountains and away from trouble as they could but also to stay, to put steel in their spine and face whatever came head on.

When they finally headed towards the supposed location of the Gate and heard Kit's voice, they knew there was nowhere left to run.

"Be silent." Erhardt snapped back to the already silent crew as they came across a small gap with two flaming torches set either side. Beyond the gap they could hear voices, could see a slight glow. Knowing only that what they were looking for was through this gap, one by one they filed through.

At the front of their line, Olberic heard Kit's voice first, he heard the question the ever earnest lad asked:

"So, I'll find Father on the other side?"

The voice that responded was as dark as it was beautiful, the voice of a witch, a siren intent only on helping herself. "Trust me, Kit. He is there, waiting for you."

Just as she said that, someone behind Olberic accidentally knocked a stone loose from the wall, forcing him to stop quite visibly at the end of the gap as Lyblac whirled around, face like thunder as she saw someone. Cast in shadow by the red light glowing from between the opening in the Gate, Olberic could not truly see her face, but he could feel it. He could feel her intense anger, an anger almost more palpable than the pull of the glow behind the Gate. As alluring as it was terrifying, the grand Gate at the end of the world was rather similar to Lyblac in that respect.

"Is something the matter?" Kit turned to ask Lyblac, searching her face for an answer rather than his surroundings.

The shadows on her face twisted and lightened as she shook her head, lifting her face from rage to calm persuasion as she faced Kit again. "Pray, forgive me. Why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up soon."

Looking once from her face to the gap in the rocks, Kit seemed to look right through Olberic. He couldn't see him, he didn't know they were there to save him. Instead, the lad took a deep breath and raised his head high, heading into the red glow, through the Gate of Finis.

"Kit, no!" Olberic shouted at the lad, spurred into movement as he rushed out of the gap and into the clearing before the Gate. Behind him, his friends and fellow fighters slowly poured out and watched as Kit disappeared. As Lyblac stepped forward with a most ghastly smile.

"I trust you came for Kit." Lyblac smiled, taking in faces familiar and new alike with her dark gaze. Whatever power she exuded, it was enough to silence them all as they watched her, waiting for her to step aside, to foolishly reveal how they could save their friend. Instead, under the red glow of Finis, her face twisted into deep anger once more. "I'll thank you not to interfere."

With that said, she turned and started towards the Gate. Like a spell had been lifted, now that she was no longer staring into them, the group started to draw their weapons and take a collective step forwards. Hearing the noise, Lyblac offered one last warning.

"Pass beyond the Gate of Finis and never again may you return to this world. Follow us if you so choose, but first be certain that is truly the path you wish to tread."

Disappearing into the glow as Kit had, the group simply stared in concern, fear once more held them in a vice grip.

The eight travellers, they knew they would step through the Gate. They knew they would continue onwards. With a look shared between them, they took a step forward and turned to face the friends they'd gathered, the people with more sense each than the eight shared between them.

"Thou hearden the Witch." H'aanit addressed them, her archaic speech carrying far more weight here than it ever had before. "Wilt thou followen?"

There was a collective moment of hesitation before at last Ogen stepped forwards. "What have I got to lose?"

With great purpose, he made his way past the travellers and stopped before the glowing entrance. Taking a deep breath, it was easy for them to see what he was thinking: for Graham, for Melyssa, he would do all that he could to save Kit, to protect them all.

So he walked through the Gate.

Never one to be out done, Vanessa gave Alfyn a knowing look and followed Ogen. Linking her arm through Ned's, Cecily put on her bravest smile as she pushed past the travellers to the Gate. With a shrug, Odette stepped forwards next and offered Cyrus her hand.

"Who else but us can unravel the secrets beyond the Gate?" She asked, waiting as he at last took her hand and made his way through the Gate by her side.

"On my honour..." Eliza muttered to herself, watching out the corner of her eye as Lianna moved in step with her.

"Anna..." Ophilia muttered her name before raising her head high and walking beside her sister and the knight into the Gate, to whatever horrors awaited them.

"Shall we?" Leon asked Z'aanta, ever on the search for a new adventure as he was.

"Quiten the story toe tell," Z'aanta chuckled as he and Hägen followed beside Leon. He stopped once to offer H'aanit a wink. "If I live."

"Master, waiten!" H'aanit called after him, Linde chasing her in as they each stepped into the Gate and after a great story.

"H'aanit!" Alaic called after her, rushing to walk beside her through the Gate and deep into the belly of the glow.

"You can still turn around." Tressa told Ali even as she turned towards the Gate. One of the people she'd asked to join her had already gone through, she should too.

"And let you take all the treasure?" Ali chuckled, though there was certainly fear hiding behind that chuckle. They were both still young, after all. Still, he stepped forward and tilted Tressa's hat as the pair followed the others into the Gate. "As if."

"Zeph?" Alfyn called his friend's name and offered him his hand. "I understand if-"

"No." Zeph shook his head resolutely, taking Alfyn's hand and seeming to drag them both trough the Gate before either one could change their mind. "Someone's got to watch you, after all."

"I can take care of my-" Alfyn's protests were cut off to the ears of those outside as he too disappeared through the Gate of Finis.

One by one they'd watched their friends file through the Gate. Knowing they had brought no one along themselves, knowing the had nowhere else to turn, Primrose and Therion shared a look before they too headed through the gap in the Gate to save their friends.

"Nervous?" Erhardt asked Olberic as he stepped up to join him, staring up at the ornate Gates as they started their short walk through into supposed Hell.

"More surprised that these had been hidden here the entire time." Olberic shook his head, hoping that his nervous shake wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. "Did you know?"

"Not at all." Erhardt shook his head too. They were just before the opening now, bathing in the hot glow. If what lay beyond the Gate truly was Hell itself, at least they knew the stories of it being hot were true. "Ready?"

"What's one more mission?" Olberic chuckled as the pair of them too stepped through the Gate of Finis.


End file.
